


Lovesick

by Crimson1



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Barry, Bottom Len, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Barry, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 238,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry is broken and looking for an outlet, any outlet, as he spirals deeper and deeper into depression. Enter Leonard Snart, the perfect escape. He hurt Barry and his friends more than once, so Barry decides to hurt him back, but not with violence. At worst, Barry will get some no-strings-attached sex out of the deal; at best…he’ll get Snart to fall in love with him and then break his heart to spite him. What Barry doesn’t expect is to fall for Snart in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoeNeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeNeal/gifts).



>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, JoeNeal, for the prompt that created this!
> 
> More tags and characters will be added as they occur in the fic. I have a plan, but not everything spelled out yet, so I'll see where the muse takes me, but I expect this to be long. 
> 
> TIMELINE NOTE:  
> This is canon-divergent in that it assumes Legends of Tomorrow doesn’t happen. The singularity did occur, but Ronnie’s sacrifice closed it without any breaches forming, so there is no Zoom or anything from Earth-2 either. Everything else happened as you know it. Some things that may have had some influence from Zoom’s existence, like Patty leaving, happened slightly differently, but still happened close enough to lead us to where this fic begins. It is set a few weeks after Patty left Central City.
> 
> CONTENT NOTE:  
> First of all, I want to make it clear that despite how this starts off, there will never be any physical abuse between Barry and Len, outside of the normal canon-typical violence when they fight. This will be purely emotional manipulation/abuse on Barry’s part, which since he is operating on false pretenses, lends itself to dubious consent. I choose that tag because Len can’t make a conscious choice about what he wants when he doesn’t have ALL of the information, but Barry does approach things as sex only, for fun only, even if he actually means to try and get Len to fall for him deeper than that. And Len of course is entirely on board with everything that happens…until he learns the truth.
> 
> This has turned from a dark headcanon into something quite personal for me, so I also want it clear that when I write from Barry’s perspective going through what he’s going through, I do speak from a position of authority as someone who has experienced depression, anxiety, and more, which at times has required medication, and at times has not. That isn’t to say I’m the end-all authority, everyone is different, this is purely my interpretation. 
> 
> Some may think of this fic as OOC for Barry, and I think that’s true. This isn’t our current canon Barry, this is merely a possibility, one among many, something that maybe could have happened given what we have seen of Barry if certain events played out differently. That is what I’m exploring, so if this isn’t something you’re interested in, I completely understand, I won’t be hurt even if you’re a familiar reader of mine, and I wish you the best with whatever fics you do read while this one goes through its journey.
> 
> I promise you this – it will hurt, but it will also heal. Barry’s plan will not go as he expects, and when everything comes to a head, it will get worse before it gets better, but there WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING. 
> 
> Keeping all of that in mind, as well as the tags, the premise, and my warnings, if you still want to come along for this ride, I welcome you, I welcome comments and critique and discussion, even about the weightier things this fic will address. I also want to make it clear that if anyone ever wants to hit me up to discuss something more personal prompted by this fic, feel free. Tumblr might be the easiest in that regards, just let me know. This fic is a sort of therapy as well, for those of us who’ve been where Barry is—and those who haven’t. 
> 
> It does get better. There are better ways. There is a happy ending for everyone, even if that doesn’t mean being happy every day. 
> 
> Thank you.

There was a time when the thrum of the Speed Force surrounding him, the city blurring and then becoming telescopic in its distinction as everything slowed in contrast to him going faster—faster, _faster_ —made Barry feel happier and more complete than he ever thought possible before the lightning. 

Now it was all just noise. 

“Please tell me you have a read on this guy,” Barry said as he skidded to a halt and looked around the empty lot he’d chased his quarry to, only to have lost him—again. 

“Not yet, Barry, hang on,” Caitlin said over the comms. 

“And it’s Camouflage,” Cisco said succinctly. 

Barry gritted his teeth. Cisco meant well, he always meant well, and he loved his job, which was…good. For Cisco. Barry knew to expect the nicknames and the lack of professionalism on occasion, but some nights it grated on him. Like tonight. And the night before. And this past week— _month_. Barry was losing track of the days that he wasn’t irritated with someone. 

“Guys, he’s getting away,” Barry said through clenched teeth. He scanned the parking lot again, looking for the faint, tell-tale shimmer like ripples of heat on a summer day that so far had been the only indication before this guy attacked. He could blend in perfectly with his surroundings, making him invisible to the naked eye, almost like—

“Ooo, or Predator!” Cisco said, following Barry’s same line of thought. “Though that’s copyrighted and arguably less creative—”

“Cisco…” 

“Barry, turn to your left,” Caitlin spoke over them. 

Barry obeyed. His Flash symbol had been outfitted with various sensors to pick up readings from new meta humans. In this case, a meta who could not only alter his biochromes, but also the miniscule wavelengths of light reflected by the pigments. In an empty lot on the edge of town, with no vehicles or passersby around, nothing but their meta of the week should cause his sensors to go off. 

“Two feet in front of you!” Caitlin yelled. 

Barry swung, connecting a hard right hook with the side of Camo’s face. The meta’s image rippled into view, just a man at his core, with a shaved head, slim night vision goggles, and a simple skintight suit in black made out of a material that Cisco was dying to get his hands on, since it could mimic the man’s natural biochromes when he used his powers to blend in with his environment. 

If Barry knocked the guy out, he could get him back to the Pipeline, take his suit, and have him ready for Iron Heights’ meta wing transfer in the morning. He might even get six hours of sleep for once. 

Barry readied his other fist for a sharp, successive left hook, but since he couldn’t risk adding any of his speed to his hits—or possibly dislocate or break someone’s jaw—he was too slow. Camo had dropped the bag of stolen money and jewelry, but he recovered quickly from the first hit, both hands snapping up to catch Barry’s wrist mid swing. His black suit sparked with a charge of electricity, and Barry had less than a second to realize how much trouble he was in. 

A shock as painful as any jolt of lightning from Weather Wizard traveled up Barry’s wrist, up his arm, and right to his heart, where he felt the rhythm stutter. The next thing Barry knew, he was on his knees, blinking dazedly up at Camo as the meta human snatched the bag of loot from the ground and made a break for it around the nearest building. 

“Barry!” Caitlin cried. “You heart rate—”

“I’m fine,” Barry coughed. He sucked in air as he waited for his healing factor to steady the jagged rhythm of his heart making his chest feel like he had a hot iron pressed to the inside of his ribcage. Five seconds…ten…finally, it dissipated. “A high volt electrical charge is how he controls the reflectors in his suit. But I think he shorted it out with that trick. I can catch him.” He zipped to his feet. 

“Be careful,” Caitlin said. 

“You got this,” Cisco assured him. 

Barry bounced on the balls of his feet once, twice, then took off in the direction Camo had run. Three possible options for where he’d gone presented themselves to Barry once he rounded the corner. Down an alley back out to the street—likely not. Up a fire escape to the roof of the building—doubtful. And beneath a loading dock door that was just barely over a foot up from the ground—a tight fit, but possible the man had slid his lithe form underneath, and Barry could easily follow suit. 

“Got a lead. Going dark until I have him in my sights.”

“If we get any obvious biochrome readings, we’ll let you know,” Caitlin said. 

Scuffing up the suit as he crawled on the ground to get under the door was more of a nuisance than dangerous, but it still made Barry feel low, and annoyed—and like, really, could this night get any worse?—when every night lately felt like an exercise in Barry’s dwindling patience. Someone whose best trick was being sneaky, and giving off a one-shot electrical charge should not put Barry on his ass. 

He just wanted to catch this guy and call it a night. Get some peace and quiet for once—just once. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a night off. Not since Patty left Central City. That was six weeks ago. 

Barry stifled a curse as he rolled to his feet inside the…factory? He couldn’t be sure. It was nearly pitch black inside. Pitch black for him, against an enemy with night vision goggles. Fantastic. 

Feeling outward with his hands, Barry walked slowly into what felt like an expansive room, but he couldn’t be sure, trying to slowly strafe the direction he pointed his chest to give Caitlin the opportunity to pick up any readings. He closed his eyes, since he couldn’t see anyway, and focused on what he could hear. 

Scuffling feet…to his left! He swung—but hit nothing. He turned to face that direction, listening for Caitlin to give him any cues, but nothing came. 

Breathing…right! Barry swung again—still nothing. Once more, he turned to face where Camo had been, waiting…hoping…

Barry’s feet knocked out from under him and he went down, flat on his face, smashing his nose into the concrete floor. Broken, bleeding— _fuck_ , he’d have to reset that for it to heal right. He hated resetting bones. 

Then, finally, the meta human made an error in judgment and moved to pin Barry to the floor with his foot, only Barry had already rolled over, and caught the man’s ankle in his grasp. He yanked downward, and felt Camo falter, tumble, and hit the ground with an oof on his back. Yes! Barry scrambled to get a better hold of him, but Camo righted himself and started to crawl away. 

No, no, no… Barry felt so foolish grappling with a man in the dark, but damn it— _damn it_ , he was not going home empty handed tonight. Not again. Not another night with absolutely nothing to show for everything he put into this, everything he gave of himself to be The Flash, everyone who had been sacrificed so _he_ could live and protect this city. 

He felt when Camo reached a wall and tried to scramble to his feet, but Barry was faster, got to his feet first, kept the meta human pinned and unsteady as he whirled him around and slammed him hard into the wall. Barry couldn’t see anything but the faint outline of round lenses from Camo’s goggles. He reared his arm back for a swift punch to end this. 

Another shock coursed through Barry, and— _fuck_. It was weaker than the first, but still hurt, so much, and Barry was done, just done. He tightened the grip of his left hand on Camo’s suit, and fueled every ounce of anger he had into his punch. 

The crack of Camo’s nose breaking as Barry’s had was gratifying—vindicating. 

The second punch made the man moan in pain. But he was still conscious. 

Distantly, Barry heard Caitlin and Cisco yelling for an update, demanding to know what was going on, but Barry wasn’t done yet. 

He swung again.

“S-Stop…” Camo sputtered in a rough, broken voice, spitting at the ground after he spoke, “I give up, p-please…”

Barry’s fist tightened, readied again, and he just…he wanted to scream, and nearly did as he pulled his arm back again. 

“Barry, answer us!” Cisco cried in his ear. 

His fist connected—but not with Camo’s face. Barry’s knuckles sunk into the plaster of the wall. He’d used his speed. He’d a punch a _hole_ in the wall. It sparked and smoked—a fuse box. The damage triggered something in the building’s grid, and suddenly, faint blue emergency lights kicked on above and around Barry. 

He took a breath that seared his lungs. He’d been holding it since the first punch. But he lost his breath again when he finally looked at the man beneath his grasp, illuminated as the building filled with light. 

Camo looked like he’d gone three rounds with a prize fighter. Nose busted and bleeding, the bone around his left eye likely cracked, already swelling, lip split, eyes dazed beneath his goggles as he struggled to stay awake. Then Barry looked at the hole he’d left in the wall and realized how close he’d come to caving the man’s face in just like the plaster. 

“Barry!” Caitlin and Cisco cried together. 

“I…I’m okay. I’m okay. I…I got him.” Slowly, Barry loosened his fist and his hold on Camo, letting the man slump against the wall, who finally, blessedly passed out. 

“Are you sure?” Caitlin asked. “Your blood pressure spiked.”

“It just…got a little brutal,” Barry said. But there was nothing little about it. And the worse thing was, he didn’t feel sick from what he’d done—what he’d almost done. 

He felt numb. 

XXXXX

Barry hissed as Caitlin cracked his nose back into place, then handed him a damp cloth to wipe away the blood. She’d done the same for Camo first, cleaned him up as best she could so he’d be able to rest comfortably in the Pipeline until morning. She hadn’t said a word about the state of the man since Barry brought him in, though Cisco had uttered a surprised, “ _Dude_ ,” that made Barry flare with anger more than shame. 

Which he knew was backwards. He _should_ feel ashamed. He could have killed the man. He’d let himself get angry and it had led to Camo likely having a concussion, not to mention the cuts and bruises. But Barry either felt empty or justifiably bitter these days, and neither emotion resembled the relief he craved. He just wanted to sleep, wake up in the morning, and be a different man. Be someone other than Barry Allen or The Flash. 

“Barry?” Cisco said with a note of confusion. 

Barry blinked and looked up, only to see both Cisco and Caitlin hovering in front of him like they’d been standing there for a while now. “Huh? What? Did you say something?” He hopped down from the hospital bed and dropped the now bloodied cloth on top of it. He was still in his Flash suit, cowl back, body drained and tired, but not as sore as he’d be if he was human. 

Cisco’s eyes widened, while Caitlin’s narrowed and she pursed her lips. Barry could sense the lecture coming. He knew he deserved it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now. 

“Barry, what happened tonight?” she asked.

“I told you. It was dark. I didn’t see the damage I’d done until the lights came on. I was frantic from the fight. He kept getting the jump on me.”

“And that would be fine, Barry,” Caitlin said, arms crossed in reprimand, “if I thought you were being honest with us. But the Barry I know, even if this was an accident, would be beating himself up over hurting someone that badly. Lately, you’ve been…”

“What?” Barry took a step closer to his friends when Caitlin trailed. He almost expected them to back up a step, and felt anger swirl in his gut again when they didn’t. 

“Dude, chill,” Cisco held up his hands like appeasing a small child rather than dealing with a dangerous meta human, something he would never do with anyone but Barry, “you’ve been extra intense the past few weeks, okay? Like all your nerves are fried. If that leads to beating up the baddies that much better, I’m all for it, but _that_ …”

“But that what?” Barry challenged again. Took a step toward them—again. “Is what I did any worse than how my enemies have left me? Just because I heal, doesn’t mean I haven’t been beaten, and hurt, and near death more than once—”

“Which is awful, Barry,” Caitlin walked into his path, unafraid, “and I wish we could prevent you from ever getting hurt like that again, but that doesn’t justify stooping to the level of the people you stop.”

Rage curdled in Barry’s veins. He tightened his fists, feeling the same desire to break something, anything, _anyone_. And as the need to hurt someone as much as he’d been hurt warred within him, he whirled around and slammed his fists down onto the hospital bed, buckling it and crashing it to the floor. 

“Barry!” 

“Dude, what is your problem!?”

“My _problem_ is it never stops!” Barry yelled, louder, and fiercer in his anger faced away from his friends. He couldn’t see straight for how he shook and boiled on the inside. “They take my mother, and they take my time—my days, my nights, _my life_. Wells, Mardon, Snart, all of them! They take everything, and what they don’t take, leaves. 

“My father leaves me. My girlfriend leaves me. Because I can’t risk her, can’t risk anyone. And something I once thought was a gift, that I would have chosen if I could, would have asked for if chance hadn’t given it to me, now is something I can’t escape. I can never escape, or stop, because the second I stop, someone is going to die, and it’s going to be the wrong person again, someone I love and couldn’t protect. 

“So why can’t I hurt someone first, for _once_ , huh? When do I get the upper hand? When do I get to win, finally? When do I get a _fucking_ break!?”

He kicked the hospital bed with such force and speed that the whole thing went flying into the wall and smacked into the glass, causing a crack three feet long to form and nearly shattering the whole thing into fragments. 

Barry gaped at what he’d done the moment the carnage settled. It was like some spell lifted, breaking through the surface of his numbness and leaving him with this awful, potent sadness. He didn’t realize he’d started to cry until he sniffled, then lifted a hand to his face and felt the wetness on his cheeks that had nothing to do with dried blood or the cloth he’d used to wipe it away. 

The silence was suffocating. He was afraid to turn around, to see how his friends would look at him after he’d done something so reckless and stupid and frightening. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, half turned, staring at the floor, grateful, actually grateful that he felt the pain, and the shame, and the ache of what he’d done, because when he felt nothing, it was so much worse. “I’m sorry,” he tried again, sniffling, and gasping, and sobbing— _damn it_. He hated being weak, almost more than he hated the shell of himself he’d become. 

Barry tried to lift his head, to look at Cisco and Caitlin, but before he could, he felt their arms surround him and he just…couldn’t anymore—couldn’t be strong, couldn’t be angry, couldn’t be anything but miserable and lonely even with his friends at his side. 

He cried as they held him. Cisco from the front, Caitlin from behind, both half holding him, half plastered against him. It wasn’t enough, but it was better. It was better, and made him feel all the worse for his behavior, because of course his friends were there, forgiving of him no matter what he did, and more amazing than he ever deserved. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” 

“Barry,” Caitlin said softly against his shoulder, “nothing is wrong with you. Nothing that means you’re anything less than you. You’re hurt and frustrated and weighed down by far more than any one person should have to shoulder alone. But you’re not alone, Barry. Let us help.”

“Yeah, man,” Cisco said, hugging Barry’s waist, “it’s _Team_ Flash, emphasis on the team part, remember? Tell us what’s going on.”

Slowly, limbs extracting themselves one at a time, Cisco and Caitlin released Barry but remained close, ever ready with physical comfort. Normally Barry loved that. He yearned for touch from the people he cared about. And, within the hug, it had felt grounding and good, but out of it again he just felt hollow. How was he supposed to put that into words?

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists tight. “Lately, no matter what I do, I just want to…hurt someone. Pound someone into the ground until they break, and feel as broken as I do.” 

“Barry…” Caitlin said softly.

“I won’t do that.” Barry opened his eyes, seeing how his friends had moved to bookend each other in front of him, faces drawn with concern. “God, I…I know I don’t really want that, but sometimes, I feel like I need to scream and hit something, and there is no outlet other than patrol. But I can’t risk losing it out there when people’s lives depend on me…” He deflated, wishing he hadn’t demolished the hospital bed so he had somewhere to sit.

Caitlin smiled with endless patience. “Maybe you need to blow off steam another way, Barry. Talking about it, telling us what you’re feeling, that’s good, that’s a great start, but you are allowed to take a break.” 

“What, take up a hobby?” Barry said humorlessly. “Date? Tried that, failed miserably.” 

“Why does it have to be dating?” Cisco prompted with a twist of his lips. “There are other ways to blow off steam, if you…get what I’m sayin’.” 

“ _Cisco_ ,” Caitlin wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t mean break some poor girl’s heart,” Cisco held up his hands toward her defensively, “I mean mutual understanding that gettin’ busy is all that’s on the table, okay? Everybody happy come morning.” 

Caitlin shook her head, but couldn’t resist a teasing smile.

Barry huffed an abortive laugh. “Maybe, but that’s not really _me_ , you know?”

“Hey, metas can’t attack every night,” Cisco said more seriously. “The boys in blue can handle plenty on their own. We can do movie nights right here in the Labs, relax, and still be on call if something big comes up. I miss getting our geek on, man.” He nudged Barry with his shoulder. “Get take-out. Play some GTA Heists.”

“I will never understand how you two can fight crime and put away the people who commit heists,” Caitlin said, “and then want to spend your free time pretending to be those same people in a video game.”

“Wanton destruction and escapism is good for the soul, sister,” Cisco countered.

This time Barry laughed genuinely. It felt good—familiar. He’d started to forget what normal happiness was like. “I’d like that,” he said, thinking of all the nights that had differed from Camo, where the big bad had just been some car thief or purse snatcher. The Flash didn’t need to give up his evenings for that. 

“It’s a date,” Cisco said. “We’ll pick a night this week.” 

“For now, just get some rest,” Caitlin gripped his shoulder, “maybe find some time to take off from work coming up, some vacation days if you can. You have a right to stop and breathe, Barry. If you were anyone else…”

“What?”

She sighed as her hand dropped back down between them. “It’s been weeks, Barry, months like this, don’t think we haven’t noticed. I thought maybe things were finally getting better, but…well. Some people find medication to be helpful.” 

“Only my metabolism would burn through anything I took,” Barry finished what she hadn’t said. Having a healing factor wasn’t always a good thing. If he was…unbalanced, how could he find equilibrium again when he had superpowers?

“That doesn’t mean we can’t figure something out,” Caitlin said. “Just keep talking to us. Don’t keep us in the dark. Some time off, and the right outlets, may help. But if they don’t, you should never feel like being miserable is okay, or the norm. No one is meant to go through life unhappy.” When her eyebrows downturned with sympathy, and she smiled through the pain, Barry knew she spoke from experience not condescension. She’d been there, felt low and miserable like nothing could make life worth smiling over again, and had still found a way to crawl her way out—more than once. 

“Thanks,” Barry said, looking to each of them in turn. “I mean it…thank you. Both of you. Maybe I needed this detour with Camo to get my head on straight.”

“Dude,” Cisco sneered. “Camo? That sounds seriously lame. It’s Camou _flage_ ,” he drew out the ending syllable dramatically, “excuse you. Otherwise, it sounds like Camel, and you better not ever get a supervillain who deserves a name like that.” 

Barry laughed reflexively, almost naturally. “Do you know how annoying it is to say ‘Camouflage’ over and over again? Camo just comes more naturally to my internal monologue.”

“Well your internal monologue don’t get a say over my naming convention.”

Barry held a hand to his chest as if affronted. “Who’s the hero here again?”

“And whose suit you wearing and tech you using, Miss Thang,” Cisco snapped his fingers. 

Barry laughed again, and that one was easier, freer, especially when Caitlin joined in and Cisco laughed with them. Barry hugged Cisco tight, longer than he maybe needed to, then did the same with Caitlin. “Sleep,” he said, “tonight I’m going to sleep. I’ll keep you guys posted, I promise. Scrounging up some vacation days sounds like just what I need.”

XXXXX

Barry resisted the urge to hurl his phone at the far wall in Jitters. He didn’t have any vacation days. Every time he thought he was getting better, feeling better, and maybe on the upswing out of…whatever was wrong with him, something from the very small and mundane to admittedly tragic would rear its head and pull him right back down into the muck. 

The barista had already gotten his order wrong once, and now his calendar betrayed that he had used up his last sick day and vacation day ages ago, and wouldn’t accrue any more for weeks. 

“Barry!” the girl filling orders declared as she slid his drink onto the pickup counter. 

At least this time it was the right size, and clearly had ‘The Flash’ printed on it next to his handwritten name. 

Barry—The Flash. On a good day it would have made him snicker. Today, he snatched up the drink without even a mild thank you and took a quick pull to feel some semblance of a caffeine rush. 

He nearly spat his first sip out onto the floor. One of the girls in the back was new. She’d burnt the espresso shot. It tasted terrible, but Barry didn’t have time to get back in line. Jitters was always jam-packed this time of day. 

He shouldered his way through the crowd of people to the back condiments station by the exit. He needed to add as much cream and sugar as he could in order to save his morning coffee fix. 

A girl he’d seen at Jitters before, another morning coffee frequenter, flashed him a smile as he passed her, and may have even added a greeting or good morning, but he ignored her and pressed on toward the sugar. He knew he was being snippy and surly, but he was not having a good morning. He wasn’t having a good anything. All of Cisco and Caitlin’s supportive words and gestures the night before seemed stale now as Barry plummeted right back down to rock bottom. 

He wanted to chuck his coffee at the window, smash the napkin case in his fist, pick up the extra coffee cup lids, throw them to the floor, and crush them under his—

“Come on, Lenny, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t love a taste of The Flash.”

Barry’s lid went flying to the floor as he fumbled not to disrupt his very full coffee all over his hands.

“Your euphemisms are not as funny as you think they are, sis. Coffee, black, is just fine by me.”

Snart. And his sister, Lisa. In Jitters. _Shit._

“With enough sugar to kill a diabetic,” Lisa said, so close that Barry was certain they were standing right behind him, but when he dared sneak a peek, he saw that the pair had passed him unaware from the entrance and stood in line about two feet back. “And what, like _your_ puns are always so hilarious?” 

“Clearly.”

Barry turned forward again, so they wouldn’t catch sight of his face if they glanced back, but he could still hear them. He tried to nonchalantly add cream and sugar to his coffee as he’d planned. 

“They’re not so bad, ya know. Team Flash,” Lisa said in a whisper that would go unnoticed by anyone else nearby, since most people were buried in their phones. 

“I’m aware of everything they did to save you, Lisa. And I’m grateful. Does it look like I’ve given them a hard time lately?”

“You could have helped with that whole Trickster/Mardon debacle.”

“I did help.”

“Way you tell it, you played house waiting for Flash to come home—cocoa, Lenny, really?—then ratted out the man who sprung you only to duck and cover. You could have called, left a message if you were only going to give up that much. Be honest. You wanna bend that boy in half.”

Barry tore his second sugar packet in two, showering sugar all over the countertop. 

Snart and Lisa’s voices started to grow fainter as they moved up further in line. Barry backed up a few steps while he stirred his cream and sugar to keep within hearing distance.

“Can we drop this?” Snart grit out.

“Come on, Lenny, when’s the last time you got laid?”

“Don’t you have a man to see about a _diamond_ , sis, or you gonna pester me the whole way to getting my morning coffee?”

“Please, like you didn’t decide on this particular coffee shop on the off chance of running into Cisco and getting a line on your boy.”

Barry’s gut twisted like he’d been punched—Lisa still didn’t know his name, or that Barry himself frequented Jitters. As long as he kept her from spotting his face, that wouldn’t change. But her teasing wasn’t just empty jokes. Snart’s reactions made it clear that she knew exactly what buttons she was pressing. 

Especially when Snart said, “Do I look like I’m retiring any time soon? Your side trip this morning—which you should be getting to, I’ll remind you, if we’re going to pull this off in the next few weeks—is proof enough of that. Kid like The Flash wouldn’t stoop to fraternizing with someone like me even if he does think I have a soft spot for you.” 

“You do have a soft spot for me.”

“I do,” Snart said with a rare touch of tenderness. 

“And for him.” 

“Lisa…”

“See ya later, Lenny. But do consider trying a taste of The Flash instead of your usual humdrum fallbacks.”

Barry pivoted to face away from the entrance as he felt Lisa breeze past him out the door. He waited a safe amount of time, then darted back to the condiments counter to get a new lid. He took a sip to calm his nerves. Still terrible, but at least passable now. He’d risk being late though if it meant getting a fresh coffee…and the chance to confront Snart. 

But why did Barry want to bother? What did it matter if Snart had a thing for him? It wasn’t as if Barry had ever caught the guy flirting with someone to have guessed his preferences before now. Unless—had he been flirting with Barry all this time and Barry just hadn’t gotten the hint?

No. Nothing so blatant. Maybe mild interest in Barry that he’d always assumed was just to get a rise out of him, like Snart always got a rise out of him. Mocking him, lying to him, betraying him. And all that, _that_ got Snart’s crank turning? Even when he warned Barry about Jesse and Mardon, that was only to make things even after Lisa, and apparently because he’d been hoping to bend Barry over the coffee table. Maybe he would have tried, too, if Iris hadn’t been there. 

Barry barely held back from crushing his coffee cup in his hands. Snart wasn’t good, or redeemable. He just wanted to use Barry like everybody else. Like Wells had. Like the department did, never appreciating his work. Like Joe and Iris who kept trying to pretend that he still belonged in their family when they had Wally now. Like his own father, who’d abandoned him the second he tasted freedom. Even Cisco and Caitlin wouldn’t have looked twice at Barry if he wasn’t The Flash, if he didn’t make their lives more interesting and exciting by being part of the team. 

Loving his sister, that didn’t make Snart a good man. He’d still killed given the chance. Still betrayed Barry at every turn. Still saw Barry only suit deep, not even skin deep, just leather and lightning. He didn’t care about Barry Allen. No one did. 

Barry turned around. He spotted Snart in line, halfway to the counter now. Why _couldn’t_ Barry hurt someone first? Why _couldn’t_ he have the upper hand? Why _couldn’t_ he win and finally catch a break? 

Snart was smooth and handsome and exuded sex appeal. It wasn’t as if Barry was blind to that. Patty had been sweet and soft and loving. Barry didn’t want sweet, or soft. He definitely didn’t want loving. He shouldn’t have to be the nice guy all the time, who couldn’t even have the one person he truly wanted, because they either didn’t want him back or they left when he couldn’t risk being honest with them and putting them in danger. 

Snart could take care of himself. Barry wouldn’t have to hide that he was The Flash. He wouldn’t have to hide anything, worry about anything. He could take what he wanted, and blow off that steam rising from within him, ready to make him blow up and do something stupid that he could never, ever come back from. This option was better. This could be everything Barry needed. 

He started to walk forward.

Cisco had told him not to break some poor girl’s heart. No worries there. At worst, Barry would get some no-strings-attached sex out of the deal, if Snart was interested, and Barry believed now that he definitely was. At best…well. 

Wouldn’t it be something if Barry could swindle the unflinching Captain Cold? If he could get Snart to actually fall for him, head over heels _in love_ with him, and then rip the rug out from under his feet. It would be such sweet revenge for everything Snart had ever done to Barry. A guy like Snart probably wouldn’t even feel it, but it would still be so very validating to finally be the one on top.

“Crap!” Barry said as he shouldered into Snart—purposely, but playing up that he’d tripped. “Sorry, shoot, I am so sorry, I just—Snart?!”

“Well, well…this is an expensive coat, Barry. I hope you’re planning on paying for that.” Snart smirked despite his words, amused at seeing Barry rather than upset that he now had coffee all down the left side of his trench coat. 

Other than the mess Barry had made, Snart looked _good_. He always did, always so slick and put together, even when just wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Today he looked like a businessman to better blend in with the crowd. Blue suit, dark trench, navy button down and a shiny striped tie. A faint scent of cologne wafted up from him, and when Barry reminded himself of his goal, the scent and sight of the man made his gut burn hot with anticipation. 

He feigned concern for the people around them, and leaned in close to Snart. “What are you doing here? Lowering yourself to robbing coffee shops now?”

Snart chuckled. “Just passing through. Usually I’m a morning person, despite my frequent late nights, but even I need a shot of caffeine to get going.”

“Of course you’re a morning person,” Barry grumbled, honestly annoyed at that, but still playing into his game. “Well my morning is thoroughly ruined now, thanks.”

“I’m sure you can get back in line for another cup.”

“Was already planning to. The new girl doesn’t know what she’s doing.” Barry subtly insinuated himself beside Snart in line. To anyone watching they were just two friends catching up as they ran into each other on their way to work. “Want a hint? Request for Esther to make your order. She’s been here forever.”

Snart stared at Barry as he stood there, holding his now half-empty coffee cup and not making any attempts to move away. “Are you angling to budge in line, Scarlet? That’s awfully villainous of you.”

Of course Snart fell into their usual banter—Barry barely even had to make an effort. He pulled on a smile, and watched Snart’s expression shift into mild surprise. “It’s not budging if _you’re_ going to pay for it.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You owe me for the cocoa you stole at Christmas.”

“I wouldn’t consider that a satisfying experience. No mini marshmallows, remember?”

“Getting frustrated with too many _unsatisfying_ experiences lately?”

Snart’s smile fell, his eyes narrowed and expression guarded as he searched Barry’s face for an angle. Barry didn’t try to hide exactly which angles he was interested in. He bit his lip and glanced down Snart’s body without an ounce of subtlety—he wanted his offer to be crystal clear. 

They were next in line. 

“Make my morning better, Snart. Buy me coffee. Then next time, I’ll owe _you_ one. And maybe, some night soon, if you play your cards right…” He trailed, leaned in close again, and whispered softly beside Snart’s ear, “I’ll let you bend me in half like you want.”

Snart visibly shuddered when Barry didn’t pull away. 

Jackpot.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” the cashier asked. 

Barry grinned as he turned to face her, leaving Snart tongue-tied and gaping in a very un-Snart manner. This game was satisfying already. “Two large Flashes to go, please. Shot of chocolate and whipped cream for his. And can you make sure Esther makes them? She’s the best.” 

Barry set his ruined coffee on the counter, which the cashier took with a questioning look, but once she spotted the state of Snart’s jacket, she understood and threw it away. 

Snart paid with a professional smile, but didn’t say a word. 

Once they moved out of line to wait for their order, he caught Barry’s eye. “Chocolate and whipped cream?”

“You’re the one with the sweet tooth apparently. Trust me. You’ll like it.”

“Will I now?”

Barry made a point of licking his lips—slowly. “You got a phone?” 

Snart’s shock dissolved in favor of an accusatory scowl hidden behind a tight smirk. “Real funny, kid. Almost had me going for a second. You think I’m that gullible?”

Barry rolled his eyes. Of course Snart suspected a trap, but Barry’s plans had nothing to do with tracking Snart’s location or calling the CCPD. 

He took out his own phone and pressed it to Snart’s chest, forcing him to clutch it or risk it falling to the floor. “Here’s mine. Take my number. Call sometime if you want. Or don’t. Whichever. But if you do…I swear it is not a trick, and I _guarantee_ you won’t regret it.” Barry left his phone in Snart’s hands, grazing the skin of his fingers as he pulled back, and held the man’s gaze the entire time to prove he wasn’t joking. 

He wasn’t, after all. He needed an outlet, and Snart would be so fun to lose himself in for a while—and then betray once Barry was done with him, just as he’d been betrayed. 

“Wynters!” the barista called, which was the name Snart had given with their order. 

Barry left Snart standing there, and took his time picking up their drinks. He thanked the girl properly, with a slight look of sympathy in his eyes to say that it wasn’t her fault he was back for a third time, then returned to his nemesis. 

Snart’s expression was still guarded, wary, but the smile was real, proving his interest and how anxious he was to see where this might lead. 

When Barry gave him his coffee, Snart handed back Barry’s phone. They parted ways at the exit, Snart left, Barry right heading toward the precinct. But when Barry checked his phone later, there was a new number saved in his contacts. 

Labelled simply ‘Len’.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len and Barry take full advantage of their new arrangement, although not everything goes as planned, and a new threat is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins! Glad I made this one longer, it worked out really well. Those of you who know the comics should be able to guess who the villain of this story will be from the brief teaser I give, and oh what plans I have with THAT. There are also some easter eggs for things I have planned in the future with this fic, so pay attention. Things that seem important will come up again. 
> 
> Also, shout out to Liselle, who likely isn't reading this, as she would need to wait for it to be over first, and I completely understand, but Len's neighborhood that he controls definitely has some inspiration from The Differences between Enemies and Nemeses. Read it!
> 
> And wow, thank you ALL who commented on part one. Glad you're all on board with this. Here we go...

Len scrolled through the contacts on his phone for the fourth time since that morning, which was borderline obsessive, he knew, but he still couldn’t believe his eyes when he once again came upon the entry that he’d simply labelled ‘Scarlet’—couldn’t risk using the kid’s real name in anything that might end up as evidence someday; they had a deal, after all—and the phone number that Len knew to be legit, because he’d taken it from Barry’s actual cell phone. 

Len could have left it at that, not given Barry his own number in return, but their chances of moving from flirting to genuine carnal activity was significantly higher if both of them had the option to call. 

_“And maybe, some night soon, if you play your cards right…I’ll let you bend me in half like you want.”_

Len shifted in his seat at his worktable, his slacks growing tellingly tight at the memory of Barry’s whispered voice, promising things Len had fantasized about often since their first encounter, even more often when he was locked away in Iron Heights, but he never imagined he’d be allowed to play those fantasies out for real. 

He could afford another minute to muse about Barry Allen before he returned to the schematics for the building they planned to hit in a few weeks. 

Len’s six-month timetable had come around again, since that ill-begotten heist in the Fall when his father intervened to plant a bomb in Lisa’s head. Len needed this fresh heist to wipe that one from his memory. A diamond; overly large, worth millions, on loan from Coast City—a nice echo to when he first met The Flash. He’d been planning the heist since even before Mardon sprung him, as soon as he heard about the diamond coming for a several month-long stay in Central City, practically tossing a come-hither wink his direction for Len to please come rescue it from its boring captors at the museum. 

Maybe Len would keep this one, prominently display it somewhere in his best safe house. He’d prefer to exhibit such a treasure in his home, but that was where he was more careful, only showing off items he knew could never be traced as stolen.

Of course once the heist was pulled off, if a certain Scarlet Speedster caught wind of it and showed up, that could put a damper on whatever games they played until then, but it still gave Len almost three whole weeks to delve into just how debaucherous Barry wanted to get. Barry wasn’t looking for dinner and dancing, that much was clear, and Len hadn’t had a worthwhile fuckbuddy in… He hadn’t ever had a worthwhile fuckbuddy. He had one night stands. Bad ideas. Never anything consistent. Of course for now Barry had simply made an offer. Consistency was still up in the air. But their other encounters had a certain continuing thread to them. 

Unless of course this was all some ploy to further drive home that Len was leaning more toward the light these days. Len would have to squash that immediately if their encounters turned to preaching. Barry’s words had a nice ring to them on occasion, but Len would rather put those lips to better use. 

The screen of his phone went dark from inactivity and he tapped the corner of it on the surface of his worktable. Three weeks. Nineteen days, to be exact, which Len always was. He could finish pouring over these schematics tomorrow. He was less familiar with Central City’s history museum, but it was small, which meant less exits to worry about and lower security, though they had stepped things up with the diamond’s arrival, including a new night guard. With Lisa having acquired a finely crafted knockout gas from a reliable chemist this morning—no casualties planned, just precision—the final pieces were falling into place. Len could use a break. A rare, long night… _in_.

“Thai food, Lenny?” Lisa called across the room as she entered the cramped work space, holding a familiar takeout menu. 

Len suppressed a smirk. “Sounds perfect, Lise. I’ll head out after. You know what I like.”

“You’re going home at a decent hour for a change? Usually when part of a plan comes together, you burn through the night at both ends. And not in any fun way.”

Len snorted.

Lisa dropped the menu on the worktable and leaned on her arms on top of it, close beside Len, giving him a playful nudge and knowing look. “What’s his name?”

“None of your business.”

“Ooo, but you’re not denying there’s a 'him' involved. Do I know him?”

Len dropped his phone on the table and fixed her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Fine,” she huffed, knowing when she could and couldn’t swindle more information out of him. She snatched up the menu again, pulled her own cell phone out, and started dialing. The place down the street could have food at their door in ten minutes—and knew not to ask questions, or give any details to the police about ever delivering to a building with an unmarked door at the end of the block, like a boarded up pawn shop. “But if he’s cute, and you fuck him more than once, I get a name.”

“Such a thoughtful, attentive sister I have,” Len droned. 

Lisa stuck her tongue out at him as she left the room, answering the call with a bright, flirty ‘Hey, cutie’ since they knew most of the staff by name. This safe house just happened to be within the same ten block radius as Len’s actual home, the only one that was. He wasn’t nearly as familiar with the neighborhoods around his other safe houses, not the way he was with this one, where within the same few blocks also stood Saints and Sinners, Len’s favorite Mom and Pop bakery, and an abuse shelter for partners and their children escaping a dangerous home. 

Len knew this neighborhood as intimately as he knew the inner workings of his cold gun. 

He picked up his phone again. Barry knew the area too. Knew Saints at least. Likely guessed Len had a safe house in the vicinity. Likely didn’t know Len lived nearby as well. But if Len met Barry at a safe house, there was always the chance of his speedy nemesis catching sight of something incriminating, something that might give away his plans for a future heist. Len never kept anything so blatant where he actually lived. Which meant it was both the smartest and stupidest idea to invite Barry to his home. 

Len texted Barry the address, followed by the instructions— _1 hour_.

Less than ten seconds later, Len’s phone buzzed with a response— _I’ll be there_.

Excellent. Maybe Len would take that Thai food to go. 

XXXXX

“What are you grinning at?” Cisco asked as Barry walked into the labs, still staring at his phone and the message from Snart. Barry hadn’t expected it to be this easy. He’d figured he’d wait a few days, see if Snart made the first move, then call if he grew impatient. Snart had given him his number as well, after all. 

As Len. Definitely better than Leonard. 

“Oh, nothing,” Barry said, pocketing his phone again, “just some plans for tonight. I was hoping to skip patrol, if that’s okay with you guys? I’ll still be on call if you need me, but it turns out I’m all out of vacation days, so I’m gonna have to get creative for a while.” He pulled on a defeated but accepting smile, which at the moment was honestly how he felt, like things weren’t okay, but they weren’t as bad as they’d seemed last night, or even this morning, not with the prospect of seeing Snart later. 

It was oddly...thrilling. Barry never got one up on anyone. Who better to con than a career criminal, especially when Snart also happened to look like he’d walked out of a male model photoshoot. Bonus.

“That’s a good idea, Barry,” Caitlin said with downturned brows and a sweet smile. She squeezed his arm, before Cisco budged in between them. 

“However!” he said. “Quick shop talk before you go. CCPD transfer went swimmingly this morning, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Joe oversaw everything, as usual,” Caitlin added with a fuller smile. “Chalk up another citizen’s arrest for STAR Labs.”

“Singh might be scary, like scarily intimidating,” Cisco held a hand up palm outward to stress his point, “but the guy is pretty cool about ignoring how The Flash obviously works out of the labs and delivers bad guys like Meals on Wheels.”

“Hey, I’m technically doing this legally. Sort of.” Barry scratched the back of his neck, replaying in his mind the several things he did on a regular basis that were so very illegal, but more legal than the way Oliver did things. “As long as I help bring criminals in instead of taking the law any further into my own hands, Singh is happy to sign things off as a citizen’s arrest. And so are his superiors. Did, uhh…” His face fell as he struggled to form his next question, but he hadn’t actually seen much of his adopted father today to get to talk to him. “Did Joe say anything about Camo’s condition?”

A brief silence filled the air between them.

Eventually, Cisco said, “His eyes did that bug out thing they do. You know, with the blowfish face.” He mimicked Joe to a frightening degree of accuracy as he puffed out his cheeks, put his hands on his hips, and blew the air out slowly. 

Barry choked back a laugh. 

“We just said it was a tough fight,” Caitlin offered. “Though, Barry…”

“I know. I should tell him how I’ve been feeling lately. I’m just always so busy, when I do have time to see Joe and Iris, usually it’s family time with Wally. I don’t want to bring everyone else down with my problems. Wally already thinks I act like the world revolves around me. Admitting I’m falling apart won’t help.”

Caitlin and Cisco’s matching looks of concerns hit Barry like a smack to the face. 

“I’m not falling apart,” he said on reflex. He was used to saying he was fine when he wasn’t. So he took a breath when they glanced at each other skeptically. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Tried again. “I’m not falling apart _right now_. I’m okay. Really. If I need to, I’ll talk to Joe and Iris. I promise. Now what else did you have to tell me?”

“Oh! Right!” Cisco brightened, dashing over to a far table beside the glass wall that Barry had nearly shattered last night. They’d have to get it replaced eventually. For now, the crack looked like a jagged scar, symbolizing everything inside of Barry that was broken. 

He felt his smile waver as he stared at it, but instantly summoned the expression again when Cisco turned to him and held up the black suit they’d taken from Camo. 

“So I have some ideas about this suit. Our friend Camouflage is no slouch. This thing mimics his natural chameleon meta abilities like something out of a _Metal Gear Solid_ game.”

Caitlin stepped around Barry to take over. “Since his powers work the same way as an animal that can blend in with its surroundings, it only works on the surface of his skin.”

“Which explains the shaved head,” Barry nodded.

“And the suit,” Cisco broke in, “is how he can use his powers to their fullest without having to walk around naked. Which, obviously, fortunate for us, but also unfortunate because…” He let the suit flop back onto the table. 

“It won’t work on just anyone.”

“We think we can fix that,” Caitlin said. “The reflectors in the suit are an impressive piece of tech. We might be able to synthetically mimic Camo's biochromes to create a stealth suit.”

“Camou _flage_ ,” Cisco corrected.

“Camou _flage_ ,” Caitlin imitated him to exaggeration. 

Barry chuckled.

“It’ll need to be a full cowl,” Cisco said, “no skin showing, and black’s still the best color. Definitely only for stealth then. A full masked suit in black is gonna be _freaky_. But totally badass,” he shoved Barry’s shoulder playfully.

“Awesome. Let me know if I can help with anything. Glad something good came from bringing in Camo.” Cisco cleared his throat. “ _Flage_ ,” Barry turned to him dramatically. They all laughed. And little by little, Barry felt better. Honestly. Almost like his old self. “I’ll have my phone if you need anything. Still on for takeout and Heists tomorrow night, right?”

“You bet,” Cisco said. “Cops won’t know what hit ‘em, son.” He swung his arm back for a hand slap, which they completed like clockwork—front, back, fist bump. But before Barry could head out of the cortex, Cisco asked, “What did you decide, anyway? Hobby or… _recreation_ ,” he waggled an eyebrow. 

“Cisco…” Caitlin shook her head at him. 

Barry couldn’t stifle his grin. “Bit of both? But it’ll definitely help me blow off steam. See you guys later.” He waved, feeling lighter with every step he took out of the cortex, down the winding hall, and out into the cooling evening air. 

XXXXX

Mercury Labs wasn’t an obvious target for a theft, unless someone was a mad scientist looking to build something bigger and badder than whatever they'd used to break into the research facility in the first place. But that was for small minds, limited thinkers. There was more to a place like Mercury Labs than tech and chemicals for the sake of science; there was what the individual chemicals and parts could be sold for on the black market. 

The place was a veritable fortress after several run-ins with supervillains and unexplained thefts over the past year, but those losses had been meager, simple, nothing to worry too many stockholders over. This theft, however, would cause quite a stir, and garner some significant funds for Central City’s newest criminal element. 

Money was just the beginning. Pulling off a heist without leaving a trace, without a single shred of evidence, that was just to give the CCPD, the public, and any competing villains a taste of the new blood in town. The real goal was much bigger.

The Santinis were out. Other neighborhoods left in disarray. Only a meager ten blocks belonged to Leonard Snart and his ‘Rogues’ as some of the locals called them. Taking over the city in its current state would be a breeze, once enough cash was collected, enough targets hit, and it became clear to the police and any rivals just who had the power and how things were going to go down from now on. 

No alarms were tripped as room by room in Mercury Labs was infiltrated, the desired loot taken only to vanish, not that the cameras would catch anything other than a flicker before they went dark. It would be as if everything that was stolen had simply evaporated. That’s why Mercury Labs was the perfect initial target, not only because the amount stolen would bring in noteworthy cash flow, but because every room, every nook and cranny…was covered in reflective surfaces. 

XXXXX

Len had enough Thai food to feed him, Lisa, _and_ Mick, which would hopefully be enough to feed Barry if the speedster was hungry. Len was nothing if not a gracious, accommodating host. And while he didn’t know the ins and outs of Barry’s powers as much as he wished he did, using up that kind of energy on a regular basis, running around the city and speeding through sometimes even mundane tasks, had to require an excessive amount of calorie intake. 

Len closed the door to his third floor apartment as he entered with the takeout bag over his arm. The one luxury—well, one of many luxuries—he allowed himself for his apartment was that it was technically two apartments, extending to both the third and fourth floors of the building, giving him lofted ceilings and a bedroom up an open flight of stairs. He had few windows, if only for privacy’s sake and to be more practical, the largest being in the bedroom, which looked out over the skyline of Central City—with a clear view of STAR Labs. 

Some nights, when Len wasn’t out on the streets himself, the sight of a certain red and yellow streak zipping through the grid pattern of his home town made him smirk as he settled into bed…and occasionally let his mind and hands wander.

Tonight his hands could finally grasp the untouchable. 

He set the takeout on the kitchen island, a long countertop that faced the living room from his open floorplan. Len liked space, an openness that allowed him to breathe and see every corner clearly if there was ever an intruder in his home. Other than that, the décor was simple, refined but not overdone. He didn’t need the most expensive thing, the ‘best’, just the best for him, or that fit his particular taste in the moment. 

His furniture was mostly trimmed in wood accents, oak, not too light or too dark. His sofa was large but firm, not overly plush, in dark navy micro suede. The walls had a few paintings, a few photographs, some worth more than five times his rent, some even worth more than that, others very little, but nothing that had been stolen could be proven as stolen. 

His favorite was a Mapplethorpe nude— _Thomas, 1987_. Like the god Apollo, all strength and beauty in the male form, twisted within a circular frame. Black and white. Unapologetic, like all of Mapplethorpe’s work. Most people would assume it was a print. They’d never guess it was the original, and that a print had replaced the real thing when Len acquired it. 

The few more personal photographs of him and Lisa, and one from the year he first met Mick, both of them too young, too unsuspecting of what lay ahead of them, were in the bedroom. 

Len removed his trench coat and hung it in the closet near the door. He’d removed his tie at the safe house while he worked, but he untucked his shirt now as well, the first two buttons already undone. With his shoes placed on the rug in front of the closet, he was left sock-clad in just his basic slacks and shirt, the picture of leisure confidence. He rolled up his sleeves too. Then he took the cold gun from its holster on his hip, and moved to put it away in its hiding spot.

Everything around the apartment was in order, nothing needed to be tidied. But Len felt uncharacteristically tense. Anxious to do… _something_. Nervous. 

Foolish. It had been a while, certainly, but he knew how to please a lover. He imagined it would be only too easy to prompt mewling whimpers from Barry Allen. Kid probably had the most sensitive skin. Would shiver at his touch, tremble. In over his head like always, but still _all in_. 

Maybe Len was nervous about letting Barry into his home. It was a gamble, to be sure, but Barry’s good nature always won out. He wouldn’t use this against Len, not without mutual benefit. Barry didn’t have it in him to setup some grand trap. He was more likely to suspect Len had a double-cross prepared. Best to keep the cold gun out of sight. 

Len had a hidden room. Nothing too cartoon villainous, just a seamless section of the wall that only he knew the exact location to open up with a strategic press of his palm, and therein rested his gear—goggles, gloves, parka—with a special spot for his gun to charge. The small room gave off a pleasant chill. Len deposited the gun, the holster, then closed the room off, ensuring that the seam was once again invisible. He moved into the living room to wait.

This was a bad idea. A terrible, dangerous idea. But if it inevitably turned disastrous, Len still had cards to play to keep Barry in line. 

Before he could reach the sofa, maybe to throw on the news, a cooking channel, something innocuous, a knock sounded at the door, stuttering his steps to a stop.

Ten minutes _early_. That was new. 

Like an actor with jitters before an opening performance, Len was calm and grinning and _on_ the moment he opened the door for the show to begin. 

The same teasing, heated expression that he’d stared back at in shock at the coffee shop that morning rested on Barry Allen's boyish face. He’d forgone the typical button down for work and replaced it with a white T-shirt and an open jacket in navy with red sleeves. There was a joke there somewhere, a statement about the two colors coming together.

“Barry.”

“Hey.” 

Barry flicked his tongue over his lips and cast his eyes slowly down Len’s body, no subtlety at all, just open want.

“Come in. Shoes off at the door.” Len stood back to grant Barry entrance. He hadn’t chosen hardwood floors to see them scuffed by a speedster.

“Of course you’re a neat freak,” Barry said with a touch of derision, but he complied, heeling off his shoes and setting them next to Len’s on the rug. “Is this your— _wow_ ,” and then he looked up, really looked and took a step further into the apartment.

His hands fell limp at his side’s as he scanned every wall and surface in abject wonder. Len noticed Barry’s gaze linger on the Mapplethorpe—good taste, or maybe just curiosity—before he whirled around to face Len.

“Is this your actual house? Where you _live_?”

“One of several locations where I eat, sleep, and spend my time,” Len answered purposely cryptic. “Problem?”

Barry smiled and laughed a little hopelessly, letting some of his inner shy nerd peek through his bravado as he averted his gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck like a nervous tick, needing to do something with his hands, move at all times, then eyed Len again, head to toe. “Not at all. Never seen you so casual before.”

“We are on my turf, Barry. Why, you hoping for a three-piece suit?”

“Maybe. Suits look good on you.”

“Well then. Next time I pull a heist, I’ll wear one. See if I can trip you up.”

Barry laughed openly this time, and what tension had been clinging to his shoulders fell away. Ice broken. Len was usually good at that. 

“Drink?” He moved for the kitchen and his liquor cabinet. 

“I don’t drink,” Barry followed at his heels. 

Len paused, continued his trek anyway, and pulled down a bottle of bourbon for himself. “Boy Scout through and through, huh?” 

“It’s not that. I just can’t get drunk. Less enjoyable that way. I like wine sometimes.”

Interesting. Len considered pressing for details, but he didn’t want to get sidetracked. He pushed the bottle of bourbon back a bit and reached up again, removing a bottle of red. “I have wine.” He gestured behind him at the Thai food on the counter. “Hungry?”

The crack of air and lightning was instant. Len’s breath escaped his lungs with a gasp, and when he blinked, he found himself staring forward out at his living room instead of facing the liquor cabinet, his back pressed tight to the refrigerator as Barry pinned him. He’d turned his back on his enemy. Sloppy. Though the show of raw power was an immediate turn on. 

“I didn’t come here for a date, Snart,” Barry whispered hot against his lips, all in his space, daring him to resist or fight back. Len remained poised and at the ready if he truly sensed a threat from his nemesis, but the heat in those hazel eyes was as potent as ever. “If you feel like eating something…maybe you should get on your knees.”

Len shuddered, and bit back a curse the moment he felt the tremor travel through him. He wanted to instill that sort of sensation in Barry. Though he couldn’t deny that he’d shivered at Christmas too when the kid slammed him against the fireplace, and held him tight, so close, close enough to feel the firm line of his body. This echoed that but so much better. There was no Miss West to interrupt, for one. And Barry wasn’t angry. Impatient. Insistent. Insolent. Oh yes. But also willing. 

Barry had taken the lead this morning, but Len had still expected he’d be the one calling the shots when things got going. This was a whole other side to The Flash. 

Len leaned forward to capture the full, parted lips before him, but Barry flinched back. An unfocused shimmer of indecision moved across his features. Len feared this would all end before it began, but then Barry’s confidence returned. The desire in his eyes, the firm set to his jaw as he bit his lower lip, leaving it reddened and begging to be sucked in between Len’s teeth. 

Barry smiled coyly as he backed away, holding Len by the scruff of his shift. He tugged him away from the fridge, and led them out of the kitchen toward the sofa. He kept one hand tangled in Len’s shirt all the way there, even when he turned forward to move past the coffee table and sat himself down in the center cushion. Still gripping the dark blue cotton of Len’s shirt, Barry toppled him forward with a swift yank downward. 

Len spread his legs, straddled Barry’s waist to accommodate, but landed gently, fitting in snugly in Barry’s lap. While Barry had denied Len a kiss moments before, now he initiated it, and Len let him, let Barry grasp his neck and pulled him down until they met heatedly in the middle. Soft lips, wet tongue, the restrained pull of teeth. Then Barry licked his way in deeper, and Len shuddered again down to his toes— _damn_ , this kid. 

He felt so good between Len’s thighs, his palms holding Barry’s face, thumbs stroking those fine, smooth cheekbones. Len had expected at least one drink. Maybe dinner. Some attempt of Barry’s to tell him about his _day_. He didn’t think Scarlet had it in him to request a booty call and actually deliver. Len had never so thoroughly enjoyed being proven wrong. 

Barry’s left arm snaked around his waist, found the hem of his untucked shirt, and pushed up underneath it. Len winced at the contact of skin, but fought the instinctive reaction down. Not tonight. He just wanted to enjoy this, without the hang-ups, without the revulsion that sometimes coiled in his gut. With the right partner, doing enough to make him feel good, Len could forget there was a time in his life when no touch to his body had ever been done in tenderness.

He focused on Barry’s warm skin, on the tangle of his tongue, on the feel of him growing hard in his jeans beneath Len’s weight— _yes_. Len felt the blood rush from his brain southward, and with it drained the din of disquiet. Barry was going to feel so good…

He bucked up into Len as if to stress that point, and gasped from the kiss hot and noisy against the side of Len’s mouth. Len ground down into Barry in response. Tongue darting out, he kissed his way along Barry’s jaw, kissed his neck, sucked on the skin there hard and eager, and ground his hips down again. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Barry huffed, sending another tremor to pool low and hot in Len’s belly. 

Barry clawed at the back of Len’s head, urging him to pull away, only to drag him back down to his lips as soon as their eyes met in a brief dance of dilating pupils. More teeth. More tongue. Deeper. _Deeper_. The grip of Barry’s hand at Len’s head, the other clutching the skin of his hip and dragging nails into the waistband of his slacks—it was rough, demanding, but not painful, not violent. It grounded Len for how Barry held back, even while, for the wayward hero, this had to be as out of control as he got. 

Len dropped his hands to the collar of Barry’s jacket, and pushed it from his shoulders. Barry wouldn’t release his hold on Len, so the jacket merely caught at Barry’s elbows. Len reached for the kid’s jeans instead. As soon as his fingers brushed the skin of Barry’s soft stomach, the hand at Len’s head and the other dipping low along his backside beneath his slacks, started to…buzz. 

“What the…?” Len searched for words in the haze of sensation. 

Barry tried to pull him down again. “Ignore it.”

Ignore… _that_?

“Kid, that is not something I would ever want to ignore.” 

They kissed again, more sporadic, licking at each other’s mouths before suctioning together tight. Len gasped for air when Barry’s hands finally stilled. He brought his palms to Barry’s face and held fast, met his clouded, lust-filled eyes. 

“Do it again.”

Barry’s puzzled expression made him look so _young_. But when Len’s words caught up to him, his grin was wicked. 

He jerked Len down once more, kissed him hard, and as his hand slid to Len’s neck, the other squeezed his ass with heady possessiveness. The vibrations began again, tingling across Len’s skin. Too much at that speed would chafe eventually, maybe even hurt, but right then, connected and feeling Barry’s power in the touch of his hands, Len was spurred on, and rocked into the body beneath him like it was his first time and every moment counted. 

“Wait…” Barry said, licking his lips, but keeping out of range from Len meeting mouths again. Too close to focus on more than the hooded look in each other’s eyes, Barry said it again, “Wait,” but not like he wanted to stop—not _at all_ like he wanted to stop. He slid his cheek beside Len’s and whispered like he had in Jitters that morning. “ _Slower_.”

Len shivered. He never, not for one moment, would have imagined that _that_ of all things would be the hottest word to ever pass Barry Allen’s lips. 

He obeyed, couldn’t not, slowed the rhythm of his hips, rolled them instead at a torturous, teasing pace. His slacks and Barry’s denim created too much of a barrier, not nearly enough friction. It was awful. It was _wonderful_. 

Barry’s hands calmed to a mild quake. “You know…your face would look real pretty between my thighs.”

Len could not process this— _this_ Barry. He stared at the kid dumbfounded. 

Barry pushed at him gently to urge him to the floor. “Turnabout’s fair play, right?” 

“Does that mean when I’m through with you, you’ll… _turn about_?” 

“Give me a reason to.” 

Len chuckled. He’d almost wonder if this was an imposter, but he knew Barry too well. “I am enjoying this side of you, Scarlet,” he said, as he stole one more brief, slow kiss, and rolled his hips again to match his unhurried tempo. Then he shifted his legs, lowered himself to the floor, tucked in between Barry’s thighs only too easily. He finished drawing down the kid’s zipper. 

Barry never took his eyes off of him. There was an edge of darkness in that gaze, and it was beautiful. Barry cupped Len’s face, brushed his thumb over Len’s bottom lip. “Imagine all the other sides of me you’ll get to see.” 

XXXXX

Barry was wired, thrumming, hadn’t felt so free and alive in months. This was the best idea he’d had since he first put on the cowl. 

Snart fell to his whims so readily, Barry almost couldn’t believe it. Feigning confidence, and experience, and power, made him feel like he truly had those things. Snart certainly seemed to believe he did. Barry had already reduced the man to a quivering mess several times over. 

Maybe it was the actual power Barry possessed; a show of speed, his vibrations. Snart had been enamored with him from the start for changing the game, for upping the stakes—maybe he liked being put in his place. Barry couldn’t take that too far, never too harsh, never brutal, but acting commanding, dominant, that had Snart responding so brilliantly. 

He really was so very pretty, as he opened Barry’s jeans and urged him to lift his hips. Down came the denim. Barry’s boxer briefs were soaked through in the front. Snart’s tongue flicked out as he stared at it, and brushed his fingers with only the barest pressure along the stain, feeling the contours of Barry through his underwear. 

Barry’s vibrations got away from him for a moment, and a ripple passed through his entire body. He could control it. He’d gotten good at suppressing his powers with Patty. But he didn’t have to suppress anything with Snart. So he let the pulse thrum through him, and let Snart marvel at him in the wake of it. 

Slower, with more care, down came his underwear. 

Slamming Snart against the fridge, pulling him onto his lap, taking every ounce of control between them for his own, it made every moment worth it—being with someone who looked pretty, talked smooth, commanded attention, but who Barry ultimately despised. 

But this, Barry had never had Snart so powerless before. He loved it. This was what he wanted, what he needed to glue together his cracked and broken pieces, just one aspect of his life where he had all the power, where only he knew how everything would end. 

This was Snart’s _home_. Manipulating his way into Snart’s heart would be just as easy. 

If Snart’s face was pretty, then his hands— _fuck_. They were art, as much as that sensuous photograph on the wall. They fluttered long and expressive around Barry’s length, settling into a firm hold, Snart’s thumb smoothing through the precum in small circles, with precision in every swipe, until he gave his first full stroke. 

No one had touched Barry since Patty. His short list of _anyone_ who’d touched him was dismal. Not that he’d ever wanted a long list of conquests, but he could count them all on one hand and still have an extra finger left. 

Well. Not anymore. 

With Barry’s jeans and underwear at his ankles, knees parted to let Snart in—Snart, who was touching him, stroking him—Barry couldn’t tear his eyes away. One of Snart’s hands had hold of him, the other braced on his thigh. Barry’s jacket was still caught at his elbows, so he pulled his arms free and reached forward for the side of Snart’s face, slid his fingers around to the crown of his head, and pulled him closer.

“So impatient,” Snart snickered, flicked his tongue out again, and descended of his own accord. 

Barry spread his legs wider, watched with rapt attention as Snart’s lips parted, as he held Barry firm, and, “ _Fuck_ ,” Barry had to drop his head back into the cushions at the slick, smooth _heat_ as it enveloped him.

Snart sucked in his tip, hand wrapped tight around the base, and drew his tongue along the underside. Barry’s nails scratched into the short buzz of Snart’s hair, not holding him in place, just keeping contact and urging him on with the desperate curl of his fingers. Snart took Barry in deeper, all the way in, and when he pulled off, he stroked through the wetness he left behind, only to return with his mouth and do it all again, a perfect balance of lips and tongue and elegant fingers.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re good at this.”

“Surprised?”

“Not with those lips.”

Snart smirked, swiped his tongue over Barry’s head then bobbed down again, sucking him in so impressively _deep_ every time. 

“And _tongue_.” God, the way it moved. The way Snart’s hand never left him, and his other hand massaged into Barry’s thigh.

Barry ran his fingers more lazily over the short salt and pepper hair. Let his body relax. Let his mind go blank. And watched—the slow slide of his cock moving in and out between Snart’s lips. 

He was going to cum. Soon. So soon…

And then his phone erupted from his jacket pocket with the theme from _Firefly_. 

_Shit_. Cisco.

“They can wait thirty seconds,” Snart husked out before he hastened his pace.

“I think you’re o—ah!—over…estimating my…stamina right now.”

Snart didn’t respond with words. He sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, pressing into Barry’s thigh deeper with his thumb, bobbing and working him until Barry could feel the peak approaching and was so ready to plummet over the edge. 

“S-Snart…I’m…”

But Snart didn’t listen, didn’t care, rode through Barry’s release with him, and stayed right there between his legs until Barry’s hips finished stuttering upwards. Barry huffed out a long, drawn-out breath once it was over, feeling boneless and so relaxed as he sank into the sofa. 

Snart pulled off of him with a parting flick of his tongue, then licked his lips as he looked up at Barry with sinfully flushed cheeks. Barry wanted to kiss the taste of himself right out of Snart’s smug mouth. So he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up with a burst of speed. The bitter tang left on Snart’s tongue was so good. Barry kissed him deep, held tight, then let Snart go to tumble back to the floor and snatched his phone from his jacket pocket. 

“What?”

Snart settled back onto his knees on the floor with a satisfied leer, and ran his hand up the inside of Barry’s thigh. 

“Interrupt something?” Barry nearly choked as he tried to laugh off how over-sensitive he was after coming, but he was already hard again, which Snart took note of with a curious tilt of his head. “Almost,” Barry admitted, “so this better be an emergency.” He listened…and groaned. At least Cisco was apologetic. “You can’t be serious, really? Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. Two minutes.”

Snart’s hand pulled away, expression turning more neutral as he stared at Barry expectantly. Barry shrugged, and didn’t try to hide how disappointed he was by the interruption. 

“No, Cisco, it’s fine. I’ll just…blow some steam off another night. See you soon.” He tossed his phone onto the cushion beside him. 

“Rain check, I take it?” 

“Mercury Labs was robbed. An assistant went in late to grab a file she forgot, and found the labs cleaned out. No evidence left behind, not even a shred, at least not that the CCPD can find. Cisco says if there were any reports of ice residue he’d think it was you.”

That prompted a return of Snart’s patented smirk. “I’m flattered.”

Barry sat up, and reached down for his shorts and jeans to shimmy back into them. “Look, uhh…”

“Go,” Snart said as he rose, the prominent bulge in his slacks making Barry pause as he zipped up his jeans, because… _that_ was impressive, and he hadn’t even gotten a real look at it yet. “You can pay me back another time, Barry. I’m looking forward to the offer you made in Jitters. And now I know you weren’t just yanking my chain.” 

Barry slipped on his jacket, grabbed his phone, and stood to follow after Snart as he walked ahead of him toward the door. “I can yank it all you want tomorrow night. Shit, no…” Barry remembered his date with Cisco, “not tomorrow. Has to be the next night. But I’ll text you?” 

“You have the number.” Snart stood by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, hiding any frustration he might be feeling quite well, though the bulge was still present. 

Once Barry had his shoes on, a wicked idea struck him. He hadn’t thought about a goodbye kiss exactly, but the whole point was to leave Snart wanting more, wasn’t it? To make him want Barry so badly that it would break his heart when Barry eventually left for good. Maybe this interruption worked in Barry’s favor. 

He stepped up close to Snart, crowded his space as the man stood there acting all unmoved and cold, when Barry had already been given ample proof that it wasn’t all that difficult to get under his skin. As Barry leaned in just shy of pressing his lips to Snart, he reached forward to grab hold of the tented line of Snart’s slacks. Impressive indeed. And so hard. Even wet enough that Barry could feel it through the fabric. 

Snart quaked ever so slightly at his touch. 

“Thanks, Snart,” Barry whispered. “It was fun.” Then he leaned in that last little bit…only to pull back, release his grip, and reach for the door. 

Barry bit his lip and raised both eyebrows in promise, before turning around and showing himself out, leaving Snart standing there unsatisfied, which in the end made Barry feel even more accomplished than he had when he came. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry saying "Slower" will come up again, because as I stated on Tumblr, I broke my brain with that. And the photograph I mention can be found here: https://pleasurephoto.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/01.jpg I think it also personifies the struggle of both characters quite well. 
> 
> I love this fic too much, and the torture I have planned for you. Comments help me write faster! ;-) And don't forget to kudos if you're enjoying the ride.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len continues to work on his upcoming heist with Mick, while Barry works the case on Mercury Labs, at an utter loss at how the theft went down, and 'date night' with Cisco ends on a sour note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: So I wrote myself into a mild corner, I realized, because I stated that this is assuming Legends doesn't happen, but also that Zoom doesn't, so no singularity or doubles. However, I do still need everything with Atom Smasher and Sand Demon to happen, and they were both from Earth 2. So we're just going to assume that those things roughly went down the same way as the show, but because evil people being evil, not for Zoom, so Atom Smasher and Sand Demon were the Earth-1 versions and were still evil, and still died. Nothing else tied to canon will really be an issue like that, but in case anyone thought I made a mistake...I didn't, I just have to turn the canon around to fit this AU better. :-)
> 
> Otherwise, this fic is writing itself. I love it so much, and all of you for giving it a chance, even though you know how badly I'm going to hurt you...
> 
> ...it'll all be worth it though!

Len had another early day planned. He almost, almost considered stopping at Jitters for coffee, but it wasn’t near the history museum where he was headed to meet Mick for recon. Even with the off chance of running into Barry again, Len would only be reminded of what hadn’t happened the night before. 

What _had_ happened was motivating, to say the least. Barry, all swagger and determination, voicing what he wanted without a single stutter, and then taking it, while Len was only too happy to oblige. Getting the kid that vulnerable, that wanton—what was Barry thinking, Len wondered, but he didn’t care, as long as it meant frequent amorous encounters for the foreseeable future. Besides, Barry owed him now. Owed him a demonstration of just how limber he could be folded in half on Len’s bed.

Len still stopped for coffee on his way to the museum, at a place he liked well enough when he was in a hurry. He needed the caffeine. After Barry had left, he’d had a very serious problem to deal with. He’d gone up to his bedroom, caught the bright streak of yellow lightning heading to STAR Labs, and envisioned that every touch he gave himself was from Barry’s hands instead. Barry’s _vibrating_ hands. Maybe it had been Len’s imagination, but he’d almost sworn there was a tremor in Barry’s grip when he palmed him before he left. 

Len got a coffee for Mick too—extra hot—and headed for the rendezvous point. The Central City History Museum was indeed small, but still located in a bustling neighborhood, which meant that Len needed to keep a low profile. He didn’t often bother masking his identity, but this was in prep for a heist. The last thing he needed was for someone to catch sight of him and call in an anonymous tip less than three weeks before the theft went down. There was always purpose if he showed his hand early; he enjoyed the spotlight, the game, but now that he had The Flash’s attention, he didn’t need a grand gesture. He could get Barry to spice up the night’s events by attempting to thwart him, if he wanted to, but there were better ways to go about that. 

Ball cap drawn down tight on Len’s brow, glasses in place instead of contacts—real, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone outside of Mick and Lisa. Dressed down in jeans, a T-shirt, zip-up hoodie, and a canvas jacket, he blended in without anyone giving him a wayward glance, as he headed for a building a couple blocks down from the museum and nonchalantly turned down an alley to make his way up the fire escape. 

He waited on the rooftop only five minutes before Mick showed up. 

“That mine?” Mick said without greeting.

Len nudged the extra coffee cup closer to his friend. “If you want.” Len was already half finished with his own coffee, and thinking he might need a second cup soon. 

Mick came up and claimed the cup from beside Len with a grunt that was as much a thank you as Mick ever offered, and sat down in the unoccupied space. The output for the building’s heating system made a nice bench, the fans ensuring that cool air wafted up on Len’s side, and heated air on Mick’s. Len knew all the best ways to keep himself and his partner in good spirits. 

Mick hummed at the coffee and the offered warmth. Good. He was in a pleasant enough mood. Len just needed to keep him that way for eighteen more days. 

Their view was a straight shot to the museum and the surrounding alleyways, streets, and neighboring buildings. While Len had maps and building schematics already, physical recon was a must in the weeks leading up to a heist in case anything like a new traffic light, or sudden sale of property threw everything into chaos. Most criminals wouldn’t bother with the fine details like that, but something as simple as a shop being unexpectedly open or closed when you thought it would be the opposite, could mean a botched getaway, additional surveillance, or all sorts of other unexpected developments. Len didn’t take chances. 

He and Mick would do this same surveillance next week, then the day right before the heist. It was a peaceful sort of monotony that he shared with Mick only, never Lisa. She’d get bored. Talk too much. Distract him. With Mick, they might make a change of plans after watching for a while, especially if they saw anything out of the ordinary, or if surveillance led to ideas of how to do the heist better, but small talk was rare. They'd known each other too long to ever ask how the other was ‘doing’, at least not in blatant terms. That only came up if something seemed off, usually Mick playing with his lighter too much or grumbling under his breath, which signaled to Len that his friend needed a more immediate outlet for his pyrotechnic tendencies. 

Today the tell came from Len. He really should have noticed it himself before it became obvious, the tap of his finger on the side of his coffee cup, his other hand drawing patterns on the vent beneath him. He had the view so committed to memory that he might have been able to walk right in through the front door of the museum from his current location blindfolded. So he let his mind wander—to Barry. To last night. To _tomorrow_ night and what wonders it might bring… 

“What’s got yer panties twisted?”

Len pulled his stray hand up to join the other around his coffee cup. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Mick huffed. “That’s not yer nerves before a heist kinda twitchin’, Snart. That’s yer sorry case ‘a blue balls face, up in yer head thinkin’ about some hot piece ‘a ass that got away.”

Damn Mick for knowing Len so well. He could deny it, and they’d volley back and forth a while longer, but that would only aggravate them both and accomplish nothing; once Mick had his mind set on something, he would not let it drop. “Fine, you got me. Think I feel like doing kiss and tell about an _almost_ , Mick? Had the start of a good time last night, got interrupted, and likely won’t see him again 'til tomorrow.”

“So there’s a next time planned, huh? That’s new. Who with?”

It never failed to amaze Len how much Mick and Lisa had in common—like nosing into his love life. He weighed his options, but he didn’t see a point in hiding this development from Mick like he planned to avoid it with Lisa. “The Flash,” he said, and took another sip from his coffee, wishing it was the same drink the kid had ordered for him yesterday—that had tasted almost as delicious as the man himself.

“Bullshit,” Mick said, causing Len to tilt his head at him.

“His idea.”

“Fuck. You don’t think that’s gonna bite you in the ass?”

“If I’m lucky.”

Mick snorted. He sipped his own coffee as he turned back to the museum. “You have yer fun, pal, but once we pull this heist, he’s gonna be pissed.” 

“More than likely. But it’ll be a fun ride along the way.” 

“You been wantin’ some a that since you brought me in on all this. He as good as you hoped?” Mick raised an eyebrow, nudging for details. 

Len didn’t do details, but he couldn’t resist admitting, “Better.”

Mick let out a slow whistle. “Nice. You be careful though.”

“Worried he’ll turn me soft, Mick?”

“Worried ya already are, partner. Least for him. Not like anyone else you been with. Knows what you do, who ya are, doesn’t agree with it, but willin’ to fall to his knees anyway, huh?”

Len refrained from saying that he was the one who fell to his knees last night. “Your point?”

“Nothin’. Better make sure it stays just fuckin’, is all. You tend to get…fixated.”

“That’s rich coming from you. And I thought someone told me once that if I wanted to fuck The Flash so much, I should drag him into a dark corner and have at it already.”

Mick shot him a pointed look, with that knowing, manic grin. “Didn’t think ol’ Red would actually go for it. Yer in trouble, pal, and you know it.”

Len downed the last of his coffee, considered and then resisted crumpling it in his fist. “Only thing on my mind, Mick, is how many hard surfaces I can find to bend him over. That all goes to shit come the heist, fine by me.”

“Right,” Mick droned. 

Len bristled at how little faith his friend had in him to mean that. “You got any other pearls of wisdom for my sex life?”

Mick shrugged. “Give it to him good, Snart. Flash is wound way too tight. No wonder he wants some ‘a you. Yer wound tight too.”

It was no use talking to Mick about these things. “Focus on business for now, Mick. Plenty of days left for something to go wrong. I need you at your best.”

“’M I ever not?”

Len knew better than to comment on that. 

“You seein’ the kid later?” 

Len’s mind went straight to Barry again, but Mick didn’t know Barry’s identity, or how young he really was beneath that cowl. Mick called someone else ‘kid’. “Tomorrow. Turns out he has some ideas about my gun.”

“Anything I can get in on?”

“Don’t know yet. I’ll ask for you when I see him. Picking up a new comm system while I’m at it that he’s been working on.”

“Comms?” Mick said with a twist of his lips. 

“If we get separated during a job, I need to know where you are. Need to be able to give orders, Mick, make snap decisions. It’s just an earpiece.”

The sneer didn’t waver. “All this tech junk…”

“You mean like your _gun_?”

“That’s different.”

Len kept his eyes focused on Mick to avoid rolling them. “Plus we need a delivery system for the gas Lisa picked up. Hartley is an invaluable member of the team.”

“Not sayin’ he isn’t. Just think it’d be more efficient if we brought the kid into the field once in a while, instead of keeping him as second string.”

“Working from the sidelines isn’t second string, Mick, just means he’s more useful where he is.” He also had no interest in armed robbery unless his hand was forced, which Len had no intention of doing. If Hartley preferred to make a (semi) honest living, while working in the shadows to provide the Rogues with needed tech, that was more than enough for Len to offer the kid a roof over his head and food on his table. 

Well, Hartley had a paycheck at the electronics store he worked at, but Len supplemented that income significantly. 

“Gas,” Mick grumbled, switching to something else to complain about. “Be easier if I just torched the guard.” 

“And bring The Flash and the CCPD down on our heads harder than ever? That’s not the kinda heat you want, Mick.”

“Whatever you say, boss. Wouldn’t wanna upset _The Flash_.” 

Len ground his teeth. Mick only called him ‘boss’ when he was being an ass. Maybe Len should have weighed his option a bit longer before deciding to confide in his friend. 

“Relax, Snart. Just tryin’ to rile you. I don’t care who you fuck, just so long as it doesn’t interfere with the job.”

“It won’t.”

“Sure, sure.”

“It _won’t_ ,” Len said with finality. At last, Mick left things alone. Finished off his coffee. Sat still and quiet as they continued to watch the museum. 

They lasted the better part of an hour before Mick spoke again. “We gonna get breakfast or what?”

Len snatched up Mick’s empty coffee cup before it got tossed into a corner of the roof. He’d find a garbage somewhere along the way. They’d done enough recon for this week. “Fine. But for all the grief you’ve given me this morning, you’re buying.” 

Mick’s rumbling laughter followed Len all the way to the fire escape.

XXXXX

Barry stood in the middle of the main test center at Mercury Labs, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, his CSI tools of the trade left untouched inside. 

“You waitin’ on something, Barry?” Joe asked from the doorway, where he’d just finished interviewing—for the third time—the technician who’d discovered the break-in last night. 

A sigh escaped Barry’s lips as he considered all the wasted effort ahead of him. “There’s nothing to find, Joe. I went over everything last night in my…other work clothes,” he said under his breath, even though the closest uniform was in the next room over. “I went through every one of these rooms and couldn’t find a single stray hair or fiber. Dusting for prints is going to reveal nothing but the people who work here.”

“But if you don’t get those prints, Singh is gonna have your head for slacking,” Joe said with a grin. 

Barry forced a tired grin of his own, but every time he did that, it felt more hollow. There were things about his day job that he loved; going through the motions without any payoff wasn’t one of them. “What all is missing anyway?”

“Anything that would fetch a price. Whoever broke in did their research. Nothing stolen could be easily mass produced or accessed elsewhere, only things worth something. And anything that was worth something, is gone. The sheer amount is…well, they’re sayin’ it would have taken a dozen men at least to carry out all that stuff in the timeframe we got.”

“Which is why it would benefit everyone if we caught these deviants sooner rather than later,” Tina McGee’s sharp, accented voice interrupted them as she entered from a side door at a clipped pace. Dressed primly in a dark jacket and pencil skirt, not a hair or spot of makeup out of place, her presence made Barry instinctively straighten his posture. 

“Dr. McGee,” he said with a nod.

“Mr. Allen. Detective. No offence, but I’m getting a bit wary of seeing both of you so regularly.” She looked around the sparse room with a pinched brow. At a glance the state of the labs didn’t scream break in, since nothing was knocked over, and not a single pane of glass on the door or cabinets was broken, but nothing much of anything rested on the counters or inside those cabinets anymore either. “This one is going to hurt us.”

Barry shifted his bag on his shoulder, and leaned forward on his toes. “If there’s anything STAR Labs can do to help…”

She spared him a surprised glance. “Offering to aid the competition, Mr. Allen?”

“It isn’t about competition, Dr. McGee. Wells’ patents can keep STAR Labs afloat indefinitely even if we never make another breakthrough. The science is important, making a difference is important, not winning.” Wells—when Barry had still considered him Wells—had always been insistent about that. 

The purse to McGee’s lips softened somewhat. She wasn’t nearly as stony and unforgiving as she’d been when they first met. “I couldn’t agree more. Perhaps I could make a few requests to speed up salvaging some of our more pertinent studies. A comprehensive list, nothing bucketed out, to ensure that what you do provide for us doesn’t give you too much insight into what we’re working on. I expect Mr. Ramon and Dr. Snow to out-patent Wells by leaps and bounds before long, but I’d prefer they get there on their own merits.” She smiled to show that she didn’t believe for a moment that either of them would ever steal another person’s work. 

“Just send it over with anything you share with our office, or email Cisco directly,” Barry said with a warmer smile. “In the meantime, I’ll…” he sighed as he looked around the room again, “…get to work here. We’ll find whoever did this.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said.

“I’ll join you in your office in a moment, Dr. McGee,” Joe gestured her toward the main door, “so we can finalize anything we haven’t covered yet and get out of your hair.” 

“Thank you, Detective.”

“Anything on surveillance?” Barry asked once she had left.

“We’re bringing it all back to the station to watch there. I’ll let you know once we have the recordings.” He tapped his pen against his notepad. “See what you can find here, huh? No one leaves _no_ evidence behind.” Barry shrugged in barely suppressed misery, which prompted Joe to squeeze his shoulder. “Hey, I know that Camouflage guy was a tough one the other night, but you seem more relaxed, for once. Other than having to deal with this mess,” he chuckled.

Barry’s smile shifted a little more genuine, though he wasn’t about to tell Joe the specifics on why. “Yeah, I was trying to enjoy some time off before the call came in last night.”

“Sorry, Barr. No rest for the righteous, right?”

Barry was fairly certain that wasn’t how the quote went. But he sensed his window closing to confess to Joe that he really _did_ need a break, that he was floundering and hurting and didn’t know how to explain what was wrong. Doing that would only worry Joe though, and for nothing—nothing he could help fix. Besides, Barry was handling it. A few weeks with Snart would be all the 'rest' he needed. 

He let his father smile, pat his shoulder again, and walk away without Barry saying another word to him.

Later, at the station, Barry was mindlessly buried in the tests he was conducting to prove that no, he didn’t have any evidence or leads to help with the break-in at Mercury Labs so far, when Iris came in.

“Hey, Barr, think you can get away for lunch?”

He looked up from his microscope with as real a smile as he could manage these days. “Iris, hey. Uhh…” He eyed the work surrounding him skeptically.

“Just kidding. I brought lunch to you.” She pulled her hands out from behind her back to reveal three greasy and bursting paper bags from Big Belly Burger. Barry knew two were for him. 

The pleasant aroma hit his senses in a rush and he felt his stomach rumble eagerly. It was nearly 1pm. He did not deserve this woman as his best friend.

“Dad said you were the type of frazzled this morning that would likely lead to forgetting lunch.” 

“How did he…?” Barry shook his head as Iris dropped the bags on the end of his desk, safely clear of anything he was working on. Her knowing smile said it all. “Thank you.” 

“Everything okay, Barry? I know I’ve been busy with this new editor running me ragged. And you’ve been running your own kind of ragged,” she chuckled, her dark eyes dropping downward in caring concern. “You didn’t make it to family dinner last week. Join us tomorrow?”

 _Tomorrow_. Barry had already postponed on Snart once. Playing hard to get was one thing; blowing him off again and again could ruin the whole affair. “Sorry, Iris, I have plans tomorrow night. Next week for sure though. Just give me a head’s up on the day, okay? Besides, you guys deserve a little family time with, you know, _just_ the family.”

Iris frowned as she paused in her unpacking of the various stacks of burgers for Barry and her own familiar #2 with curly fries. “Barry, you _are_ part of the family. There is no ‘just us’, not without you. Don’t worry about Wally. He’s been having a hard time since Mom died, of course he is, but he likes you. It’s just a lot to take in. New dad. Sister. Brother.”

“I’m not his brother,” Barry said on reflex, harsher than he intended. He and Iris had always hated when people referred to them as brother and sister—of course for very different reasons for Barry—yet here Iris was trying to act like Barry and Wally could be different. He deflated when her head jerked back at his harsh retort. “Sorry, I just…I’ve been a little fried lately. And I know Wally’s trying to be understanding of the whole weird family dynamic we have going—”

“It’s not weird, Barry, it’s our family—”

“I know that,” Barry cut her short, “but most people don’t get a brother because some poor kid’s mother was murdered and he got to be raised by your dad instead of you.” _Shit_. Now Iris looked like she pitied him. It made Barry’s head spin as the need to eat warred within him leaving him dizzy, snippy. “Bonding over dead mothers doesn’t mean Wally gets it, or that he thinks I get it. He deserves you guys without the complicated part.”

“You mean without you,” Iris said.

“Maybe.”

“Barry,” her eyes turned compassionate again, her smile too unfairly sad, “that isn’t how this works.”

The pang in Barry’s chest grew tighter, and he felt the sudden urge to throw everything off his desk, including the bags of food, and scream at Iris to leave him alone. But he shouldn’t need to do that. He was better than that. He took a breath and stood up from his chair to avoid the temptation. “Iris…look, I have plans tomorrow, okay. I can’t cancel them. I’ll join you guys next week. I promise. I haven’t been good company lately anyway. I just need a bit of a break.”

“From me?” She tilted her head with a crook to her mouth that betrayed how hurt she was by his words.

“From me,” Barry said honestly. “From a lot of things. I can’t exactly take a break from being The Flash, so I just need…something to distract me for a while.”

“And what something is that?”

“Just _something_. Look, can we eat?” He moved in front of the desk to join her and started pawing at a burger wrapper. “I’m close to passing out, and I need to get back to finishing this work before Joe comes in with the surveillance footage from the case we’re working on. Enough about me. I appreciate the food. I love you for the food, I do. And I would love to enjoy lunch with you. At a normal person speed, even,” he attempted his best smile that he hoped Iris bought, even just a little. “Tell me about the new editor. Tell me about work lately. I’d much rather hear about that than me being a little down lately.”

Iris watched him unwrap the burger and take a big, healthy bite. “Okay. If you’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Of course,” Barry said around his chewing. “I’ve just had a tough few weeks since Patty, trying to get out of this funk, you know. It’s nothing.” Maybe if he called it ‘nothing’ enough times, it finally would be. 

Iris gave him a gauging, unconvinced look, but eventually took pity on the pleading in his eyes and tore into the wrapper of her own burger. “Well, for starters…”

It was forty-five minutes of almost normal bliss. Listening to Iris, eating lunch, laughing together, Barry could pretend for a while like he was happy. He could almost believe he _was_ happy, if it wasn’t for the ache that lingered, that rose up again strong as ever as soon as Iris hugged him and headed out of the precinct. 

Those moments when he could lose himself in something safe and familiar were nice, but they didn’t stick. The sorrow, the anger, the loneliness, _that_ stuck. And it _sucked_. 

Barry aimed the rolled up wad of paper from his last burger at his farthest wastebasket by the corkboard. He missed what should have been a flawless hook shot. He sighed, flashed over to throw it away properly, and was back at his desk in under a second. 

“Did I see Iris on her way out?” Joe asked as he entered. 

“Nice try, Joe. I know you called her.”

“Texted. Technically.” He shrugged the exact opposite of innocently. “So sue me, you got a free lunch outta the deal. Wish I could have joined you two, but I got a sad ham and cheese in plastic wrap in my desk with my name on it while we watch the surveillance. Ready to take a look?”

Barry stared at his mountain of paperwork and lab results to go through, but if they caught something more useful on the footage, maybe he could skip a few samples. “Sure. At least the time window’s short, right?”

It was. Only twenty-five minutes from when the labs were locked up and the technician returned to find the place emptied. There were cameras in every room, and initial glances through the footage were done on fast-forward to see if anything jumped out at them. The first camera they checked went dark about ten minutes after the labs closed. 

“So they disabled the cameras,” Joe said as he rewound to before the camera went black and played it again at normal speed. 

“Looks like it,” Barry said, “but how? No one was in the room, but it looked like someone…reached out from behind the camera to disable it. Which would be impossible since it’s mounted to the wall.”

Joe frowned, selected another file on his computer and opened it to watch the next camera. He sped it up to close to the time when the first camera had blacked out. It was a couple minutes later when this one did the same, but how it had been done looked identical. 

“Or from underneath?” Joe said, trying to figure out where the darkness came from, because it wasn’t like an electrical surge, more like something covering the camera, like cloth or a lens being screwed on. 

“Or something from out of the lens itself,” Barry huffed a laugh—now _that_ would be scary. “Maybe they had some sort of device, something too small for the cameras to pick up on when it entered the room.”

“Like one of those remote-controlled bees?”

“Yeah! It has to be something like that. Something too small to see.”

They finished going through the other recordings. There was a definite cycle to the rooms, a pattern of one after the other, the cameras going dark with a couple minutes of leeway time in between, meaning there was likely not a dozen people involved, maybe very few in actuality, but nothing explained how the items had been taken from the labs in so short a time.

“Maybe it was all shrunk and thrown into a single bag to carry out,” Barry said.

“I thought Palmer only just got his whole shrink ray thing working.”

“It’s not really a ray, Joe, it’s—”

“Alright, alright, it’s whatever, but not something anyone could replicate, right?”

“Right.”

“Sorry, Barr,” Joe shrugged. 

Barry slumped in response, but the surveillance hadn’t given them much of anything to go off of. “Back to the labs,” he said with a huff.

XXXXX

Despite the long day at work, Barry was looking forward to his ‘date night’ with Cisco. Cisco had even made walking tacos for the occasion with a crockpot and all the fixings laid out over the counters in the STAR Labs breakroom, which was and was not a full working kitchen. It didn’t have an oven or a stove, but it sported just about everything else—counter space, a fridge, sink, dishwasher, and a couple microwaves and toaster ovens. 

Barry filled his paper plate with no less than four bags of Doritos singles, crushed up to turn the chips inside to pieces, and filled with taco meat and a little of everything else Cisco had brought over. Barry had supplied several two-liters of soda to keep them going through the evening—well, to keep Cisco going, since caffeine worked about as long as medication did in Barry’s system. 

“My mother would call sacrilege on this entire meal, just so you know,” Cisco sad as they settled on the sofa in the lounge with their gaming laptops propped up on TV trays big enough to fit their equipment and their food.

“I want your mother’s cooking in the worst way,” Barry said even as he dug into his first walking taco with a plastic fork. Just because STAR Labs had a dishwasher didn’t mean they wanted to use it if they didn’t have to.

“Pick a night to crash family dinner, bro. Mom loves you. More than she loves me, I think. And possibly Dante lately.”

The smile that had started to form on Barry’s face faltered. The mention of family dinner soured his stomach, almost killing his appetite—almost. He was glad he had an excuse not to be at the house tomorrow night. Seeing Snart would be much more fulfilling than forcing small talk with Wally. 

“Let’s start with a run on _The FLEECA Job_ first,” Cisco suggested, tucking into his food even as he pulled up his character from GTA Online. 

The main Grand Theft Auto V game had set characters for the story mode, but the Heists co-op allowed for players to create their own characters. Cisco and Barry both had avatars that basically looked like their real selves, only _VibeMe_ was covered in tattoos and wore sunglasses, and _NerdsDoItBetter_ had a T-shirt with lightning on it and a leather jacket. 

“I need a simple heist to get back into the swing of this,” Cisco said, as he cast Barry a sideways glance and a smile. “Been way too long, man. We need to schedule out a day like this every week—games, movies, whatever—when we know it’ll be slow on the Flash front. This is perfect. We’re still connected if anything comes up,” he held up his iPad that would signal an alert if any larger crimes were committed, or if there was any meta human activity, “and we still get to relax. Plus, Caitlin needed the night off too. I told her she wasn’t allowed in the labs during our bro-time.”

“And how she’d respond to that?” Barry chuckled.

“More colorfully than I care to repeat. I promised she could bro out with us next time, but I don’t think she minded missing out on Heists.”

“I don’t know. I bet if we let her try a round with us, she’d be addicted. Why do you think I never let you invite Iris? She’d outshine both of us by the end of the first run. She has a scary knack for video games.”

“Noted. Invite Iris next time to team up against you.”

“Dick.”

“Language, dude, wow, I’m offended,” Cisco teased him. “Prove you’re worthy to run with _VibeMe_ again, and let’s get this one in the bag on the first try.”

The basic level heist was the only one they could complete with only two people. It was a bank job, split into a driver and a driller. One of them drove the vehicle there and kept control of the crowd inside the bank. The other hacked into the system before they arrived, then drilled into the vault. Once they broke into the security deposit box they were after, the whole thing was followed be a high speed chase that ended with them making it to a bridge where a non-playable character picked them up—mission successful. If they got that far. 

Cisco took on the role of hacker/driller, while Barry was the driver—which really, just made logical sense to them, though they had tried it the other way around before. 

Cisco had no trouble with his portion, but Barry may have run over a few too many pedestrians as he got used to the controls again. He was more of a console guy; this type of game on his laptop was tougher for him, but it was the only way he and Cisco could play in the same room, unless they had two entire TV and gaming systems setup. 

They still managed to complete the mission with Barry reaching the rendezvous point by the skin of his teeth, police cars right on their tail the entire time. The rush of adrenaline the heist provided was almost like a real patrol, but without the threat of anyone getting hurt, himself included. There was something very soothing about that, and Barry felt a little of the constant tension in his shoulders drain away as Cisco pushed him in the arm with a jubilant, “Go Team Flash, man, yeah!”

“Whatever, dude, out of practice is right,” Barry said, “I almost botched the whole thing.”

“Just wait ‘til we try _The Prison Break_ one again.”

Barry groaned. He equally loved and hated that mission. It was the one they’d done the most in the past, but mostly because they failed at it as often as they succeeded. They also needed to connect with two other online players, as it called for four participants. 

They hadn’t brought their headsets, not that Barry wanted to interact with some of the people that frequented online games, but if the other two people in their group had headsets on, Barry and Cisco would still be able to hear them. And they did, Barry discovered as soon as they connected for the new mission. He breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out to be a husband and wife, who not only seemed to know what they were doing, but 1) weren’t annoying teenagers, and 2) only trash-talked each other, which was actually kind of adorable.

Barry and Cisco took on the roles of fake prisoner and prison guard for this mission, in which they had to pick up a bus to get to the prison and infiltrate it to break out an NPC character. Cisco was the prisoner, Barry the guard. Barry considered it a small mercy that Cisco ended up being the one to muck everything up. He got them so boxed in at one point, the two of them died together in a spectacular rain of gunfire. 

“Reminder: invite Iris next time to team up against _you_ ,” Barry laughed. 

Cisco pulled a wounded face. “Hilarious. I just need a good luck charm for this one. And I know just the thing.” He left the mission rather than wait for the retry counter, abandoning the husband and wife. Barry quickly left as well, so he wouldn’t get stuck doing the mission without Cisco. 

“Hey, what’s the deal? You know we’ll get like two twelve-year-olds next time for leaving a quality team like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on… _VibeMe_ needs a makeover.” 

Barry rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could. He grabbed up his paper plate while he waited and realized he’d already eaten through everything. “I need seconds. You?”

“Top me off, good sir,” Cisco said, handing over his plastic cup for more soda. “Otherwise I’m good. Not all of us are bottomless pits.”

“And you have no idea how lucky you are,” Barry said as he traipsed out of the lounge toward the break room. He considered getting a whole other four pack of Doritos, but settled on just two for now. There was plenty left, with the crockpot still mostly full. 

He carefully balanced both his and Cisco’s cups, and his plate of food, on his way back. He felt…good. Really good. Lighter, even. His talk with Iris had left him anxious, the case for Mercury Labs even more so, but utter and complete goofing around time with Cisco pushed all of that to his periphery. 

Until the moment he returned to the lounge to discover that Cisco wasn’t just changing his outfit like Barry expected. He was making a whole new character. One that looked suspiciously like Leonard Snart.

“What are you doing?” Barry asked stiffly.

“Who better for a prison break, am I right?” Cisco beamed proudly as Barry handed him his cup and sat back down. “Did I do justice to Snart’s stupid face or what?”

“Too good. I might run you to the police myself instead of helping you avoid them.”

Cisco laughed.

Barry didn’t share the humor. Cisco was already finished with the character creation, and was outfitting Snart with gear. He even gave him a jacket that almost looked like the parka. 

The bile in Barry’s stomach surged up. Seeing the Snart look-a-like made him think of all the things he wanted to forget, and overcome, and ignore. Made him think of all the reasons he had gone to Snart in the first place. This was supposed to be his time away from all that, away from being The Flash and all the burdens that came with it.

“Seriously, can you not?” Barry said. 

“What? Why?” Cisco didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Because I don’t feel like partnering with someone who looks like a guy I _hate_.”

Cisco scoffed. “You don’t hate Snart. You should. I should too. Guy’s a grade-A asshat.”

“Yeah. He is. He kidnapped Caitlin. And you. And your brother. He betrayed us. Killed people.”

“Dude, you don’t have to tell me. I was there for all of that too, remember? But you still don’t hate him. It’s Snart. He’s a bad guy, sure, but he’s not a bad _guy_.”

The ever-simmering anger in Barry fueled like a slow-burning fire. He stood up from the sofa. “You’re defending Snart now?”

Finally, Cisco paused in his outfitting of the avatar and looked up at Barry, brow furrowed. “I thought you were usually the one defending him.”

“And I was _wrong_.”

Cisco’s hands pulled away from his mouse and keyboard, fully focused on Barry now. “Really? Coz after everything he did for Lisa—”

“Like lie to us, nearly kill me, _and_ kill his own father?”

“Who deserved it. Barry, I’m not losing any sleep over Lewis Snart. You shouldn’t either. And the whole thing with almost killing you? You said he could have fired any time to save Lisa, but he waited, gave you and us the benefit of the doubt. He’s no saint, okay, I’m just saying that if any of the villains you’ve faced might be worth saving—”

“It would be Lisa. Who we did save. At least her record doesn’t involve deaths.”

Cisco laughed in disbelief, and held up his hands. “Pretty sure the people she’s golded would beg to differ. And killing is where you draw the line suddenly? Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”

What remained of Barry’s knotted stomach fell to his toes, as a cold, empty sensation washed through him. 

Cisco’s expression twisted like he suddenly felt the same way. He outstretched a hand toward Barry. “I didn’t mean that. I know we didn’t have a choice with Atom Smasher and Sand Demon.”

Barry clenched his fists as he felt himself start to shake. “Now it’s we? A second ago it was just me who killed them.”

“Barry…”

“I’m not in the mood for Heists anymore.” Barry turned on his heel to leave the room, to avoid looking at Cisco and wanting to smash the coffee table into tiny broken shards. 

“Barry, wait!” Cisco called as he stood up after him, making Barry pause on his way out the door, “I’ve just been thinking that maybe…maybe their deaths is part of why you’ve been acting like this. We never talked about it. We all had a hand in taking those metas down. But you struck the blow both times. Anyone would feel guilty.”

Barry took a breath. Two. Three. He peered at Cisco over his shoulder. “And why should I? Like you said, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You didn’t. And maybe in Snart’s mind, he didn’t either.” Cisco sounded sympathetic, pleading, even, but for Snart, not Barry—for _Snart_. Barry turned the rest of the way around as Cisco said, “I’m not saying the things he’s done are justified—”

“So I’m a killer now and Snart’s worth saving?” 

“I didn’t call you a killer, Barry.”

“But that’s what you think. I’m just trying to survive when none of the rules make sense anymore.”

“Barry, I get that—”

“Snart, if given the chance, would hurt me, and use me, and kill me just like any of the others! Unless I hurt him first.”

“Wait, what—”

“People don’t change, Cisco,” Barry took a deliberate step toward his friend, and unlike the other night, this time Cisco flinched, “they just reveal who they always were.”

In that moment, as Cisco stared back at him with deep-seated disappointment and…fear, Barry didn’t know if he meant Snart, or Wells, or just himself. 

He had…he had to get out of there. He started to back away.

“Barry,” Cisco tried one more time, knowing too well the telltale signs of when Barry was about to use his powers. He wasn’t fast enough to change Barry’s mind. 

Barry zipped from the labs, and stood outside for a moment to gather his thoughts, breathing in the cool night air. He pulled out his phone, which he’d thankfully kept in his pocket, though he’d left everything else in the lounge. He hit ignore when Cisco tried to call him, and pulled up Snart’s number instead.

He did hate Snart. Cisco didn’t know what he was talking about. Barry _hated_ him. And he was going to prove it.

_You home?_

_At the moment._

_Stay there._

_Oh? And why should I?_

_I’ll be there in two minutes. I’m gonna take you apart, Captain Cold. Slowly._

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens next, I swear, will not be as...brutal, as you might think. It'll be pretty much all Len's POV, so for him it's going to be awesome. Just bear with me. 
> 
> So many Easter eggs. Can you spot them all? Man, I love this fandom. More soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len gets an unexpected visit from the Scarlet Speedster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect updates this fast all the time, this chapter was just an...easy one to write. :-) Also, don't expect it to be quite this smut heavy in the future. There will be more smut, but LOTS more plot going forward. More notes at the end!

Len blinked at the most recent message on his phone. He stood dressed to leave, ready to head out the door once he grabbed his cold gun and shoes. He’d been intent on going to the safe house to work on the schematics he neglected last night. This turn of events had him quickly reconsidering. 

He promptly removed his jacket and replaced it in the closet. Pushing up his plans with Barry a night early sounded like a marvelous idea, especially with a promise like _that_. 

_I’m gonna take you apart, Captain Cold. Slowly._

Len hardened just reading those words again. He texted back, _Looking forward to it_. 

He glanced around his apartment. Spotless other than a few dishes drying on the counter. Sometimes he tinkered with his cold gun on the coffee table. Not tonight. He hadn’t yet taken it from its hiding spot. Lucky he’d stopped at the drug store on his way home earlier and picked up some much needed supplies. He’d had enough to get by last night, if things had escalated as promised, but now he was better prepared for however long this tryst lasted between tonight and his heist.

Unexpected nerves fluttered through Len’s stomach. Damn Mick for making him second guess this. Len could worry about the heist later. He could worry about everything else _later_.

A knock sounded at the door.

By the time Len crossed the room to open it, he wore a smug grin. “Impatient as always I s—”

Barry rushed him. Flash speed fast. Len barely had enough time to note that the kid had on a T-shirt and no jacket—odd given the cool spring weather—before he heard the door slam shut. His mind went blank at the sudden presence of Barry’s intruding tongue, hands around has back, one already up the back of his sweater.

Len’s breath caught as he swallowed down his heightened sense of fight or flight at being so thoroughly accosted, no matter what the end goal was. Sudden touch, harsh, demanding like this, being held in place—it always had him on high-alert for something… _else_.

But no violence followed. No pain. Barry kissed him, and kneaded the small of his back with long, powerful fingers. He would never hurt Len outside of a fight between hero and villain. He was just starved for touch, for someone to spread his legs, open him up, and _take him_. Len could do that. Oh, Len could definitely do that…

“Where’s the bedroom?” Barry spoke against his lips, still pulling at them with subtle, sharp nips.

Len got over his shock, his tension, and reached for Barry, gripping and squeezing the other man’s hips possessively. “Upstairs.”

Vertigo seized Len, as well as the sensation of freefalling, of his stomach plummeting. Then his back hit his comforter, the view of Central City out his window glittering down at him. Barry appeared in his line of sight, hovering above as he straddled him, looking wild and windblown and _hungry_.

He kissed Len again, the dull edge of fingernails scraping along Len’s stomach, pushing his sweater up, _up_ , where it was easier to see his scars. 

No…Len was fine, he was fine, he was _fine_. Better than fine with this kid atop him. He just hoped Barry didn’t ask. He didn’t seem to notice the change in texture of scar tissue beneath his fingers, at least not yet. He wedged a knee between Len’s legs, straddled his thigh, and ground forward.

“Shit, kid, slow down,” Len gasped, gripping Barry by the shoulders and holding him in place, clamoring for a sense of control over the situation. Barry’s face looked instantly betrayed at the interruption, even angry. The last thing Len wanted was for him to think he wasn’t interested. He rocked up against Barry, but with a languid roll of his hips. “Isn’t that what you promised me, Scarlet? _Slow_.” 

Barry’s fierceness remained but the shade of anger vanished in favor of a crooked grin and bite at his lower lip. “Yeah,” he said, bending to kiss Len with an unhurried, deep probe of his tongue. “Yeah…” he said again, kissing Len even slower, with an echoing roll of his hips, thighs between each other’s legs, both so hard already. “So slow, Snart. You have no idea. I’m gonna ruin you for everybody else.” His eyes looked almost black above Len when he pulled away. “No one will ever be as good as what I’m going to do to you.”

A fresh shiver wracked through Len’s body, and he couldn’t even care. “Promises, promises…”

Barry’s wicked grin was everything Len had ever wanted of the kid, all his, in his bed, in his arms, no accompanying speech about _goodness_. Seemed The Flash wanted to skirt the line of being bad instead. 

Barry’s hands returned to pushing Len’s sweater up his stomach, but he didn’t yet attempt to remove it fully. Instead he kissed Len low, just above his beltline, then trailed his tongue up to Len’s navel and licked around the rim and inside it before traveling higher. He didn’t pause at the scars he encountered; he kissed or licked them all the same. 

Barry moved to Len’s nipple and bit down hard enough to make him hiss, then licked there too, a contrasting balm, before doing the same to the other side. Finally, Barry tugged the sweater from Len’s arms, over his head, and tossed it away, so he could better kiss Len’s collarbone and neck. 

Len reached for Barry’s hip, found the edge of his T-shirt, and sought out that soft, warm skin. His other hand pushed into Barry’s hair and tugged to urge the kid on. 

Barry whined and bit down on Len’s neck. He licked at the mark left behind with careful, leisure swipes. “You can be rougher. I won’t break.”

“Fuck, Barry… _I_ might,” Len said—he didn’t mean to sound so honest. So he tugged Barry’s hair harder as the kid moved to lick his ear, Barry’s right hand bracing him on the bed while the left traveled back down to rediscover the wet trails he’d left behind on his way up. 

Still, Len didn’t pull too hard; Barry didn’t know what he was asking. Something must have happened to spark this, to bring him to Len’s door a night early, desperate and greedy for it. Len wondered what it was, but he wasn’t about to ask now.

Another moan and quick buck of Barry’s hips in response to Len’s tugs. Len turned his head to try and kiss Barry, but the kid scooted down the bed again, eyeing Len dangerously. 

“Oh, you’ll break all right. But in such a slow, sweet way. Just you wait.” 

Len spread his legs wider even as he quivered in anticipation. Barry started to undo his jeans. They were tighter than the slacks he’d worn yesterday, so the relief once they opened and Barry tugged them down his hips made Len sigh in pleasure. Barry palmed him through his underwear as soon as the jeans hit the floor. 

“Is this why you’re always so confident, Captain Cold?” Barry asked, as he stroked with faint pressure, tracing the outline of Len’s cock, before gripping him hard. 

Len grunted and bucked up into Barry. “It helps.” 

Barry laughed, and it was a lovely, dark sound. Len didn’t think a giggle from Barry Allen could be so devious. Len’s impressive size didn’t matter much though when he had trouble getting anyone into his bed, let alone keeping them there. Hazzard of the trade; no one worth keeping wanted to fuck a criminal. Len had to make do with whatever he could get his hands on before it slipped through his fingers. 

The fire and impatience in Barry’s eyes seemed ever at war with his decision to draw this out, like he needed to constantly tell himself to slow down. Len wondered if that was true for the speedster no matter what the situation, if he felt like the world around him was always moving at an agonizing crawl. 

“Before we get too far,” Barry said, still stroking Len over the fabric of his underwear, tight and deliberate, “lube? Condoms? We’re definitely going to put both to good use.”

Oh yes, yes they were. Len gestured to his right at the nightstand. Just a lamp, an alarm clock, and one drawer. “At your leisure, Barry.” 

Barry nodded—and then swooped down to mouth Len through his underwear. _Shit_. His mouth was so hot. He sucked up along Len from the base, leaving fresh wet spots that he would suck into place and then breathe hot air over before moving further upwards. When he got to the tip, Len’s own wetness had already soaked through. Barry sucked there just as greedily. 

“Your…talents…have been going to waste playing hero,” Len said. “You look good down there, Scarlet.”

Barry fluttered his eyes up at him. “If you’re impressed already, Snart, then you’re in for some surprises.”

Oh, Len was counting on it. His hands stayed mostly limp at his sides, he was so enraptured by the sight of what Barry was doing to him. He lifted his hips when Barry finally moved to rid him of his underwear and chucked them over his shoulder with another wide grin. 

The Scarlet Speedster had Len naked on his own bed, and the kid hadn’t even undressed a shred of clothing himself yet. He’d barely removed his shoes, but Len saw them, left at the top of the stairs. He figured he could forgive Barry that slight, just this once. 

When Barry descended again, Len grounded himself in the feel of Barry’s warm skin. He tangled his fingers in Barry’s hair again just as the kid’s lips parted to take him in fully. And it was a slow, slow descent, but he took Len, all of Len, all the way in. 

_Fuck_ , this was so worth it. Having to touch himself last night was more than worth it if Len got this now—The Flash between his thighs, swallowing him down. 

Barry pulled off just as slowly then gave one long lick up Len’s underside. He sat up on his knees and gripped the bottom of his T-shirt, pulling it up inch by inch and eventually flinging it into the abyss of the room. Len wanted to touch every one of those lean, taut muscles. 

He reached for Barry, but the kid ducked between his legs again. He nipped at Len’s inner thigh. Licked. Bit harder. _Sucked_. Len wanted more of that treatment _elsewhere_ , damn it. But Barry did the same to his other thigh. Then licked and sucked his way to Len’s balls and down, _down_ … 

“ _F-Fuck_ …”

“Told you. I’m gonna take. You. _Apart_.”

Another long lick from underside to tip. Barry hovered, lips parted, eyes flicked up to meet Len’s. And then the little shit crawled up and across Len to reach for the nightstand drawer, dragging the jeans he still wore across Len’s wet and over-sensitized skin. Len hissed, and cursed, and pressed his head back into the mattress.

Barry returned with the supplies grinning impishly, and eyed Len’s naked body like he was ready to devour him whole. “Roll onto your side.”

There came that freefalling feeling again. “What…?”

Barry tapped the bottle of lube against Len’s shoulder. “Roll. Onto your side.” 

Len could have sworn he had control over this situation originally. Didn’t he? Not that he was never on the receiving end, he did enjoy that, but it was rare, rare that he trusted someone enough to let them see him so exposed. Or at least rare that he was drunk enough not to care. 

“Come on, Snart…” Barry coaxed him, settling in lying beside Len rather than straddling him, and trailing the hand not holding the lube and condom gently down his chest, around his navel, teasingly into the curls below his waist, and into the buds of precum at his head. “I’ll make it so good, you can’t even imagine. Have you been disappointed so far?”

Len couldn’t say that he had been. Barry’s hand on him alone, thumb passing over his slit, fingernails grazing lightly down his shaft, made him want to give in to every whim, every command the kid gave him. He usually didn’t work that way, in any situation, let alone in bed. He needed to know he had an exit strategy, at all times, that he could always, always gain the upper hand. 

“You’re awfully confident tonight,” he said.

“Because I know what I have to offer. Next time you can bend me in half like I promised, Snart. Do whatever you want to me. But tonight let me show you how good it can be like this. Remember how much you enjoyed my little…party trick?”

Before Len could answer, a moan tore from his lips as the hand on him wrapped around his length and held firm. Barry’s hand, his fingers, they— _shit_. Vibrated.

“Yeah…you like that. I can do so much more. I’ll show you.” He pulled his hand away, took the lube and condom and set them on the other side of the bed, like a peace offering that they weren’t jumping to the end yet, and nudged Len again to roll over. 

Len was too morbidly curious not to obey. 

As he rolled to his side, he felt Barry shuffle out of his jeans. He knew Barry had also ditched his underwear when he felt the slick, hot slide of the kid against the back of his thighs. Barry spooned in behind him, draped his arm around his waist, and glided his hand up Len’s chest, up his neck, and eventually to his lips. He brushed his thumb over Len’s mouth, then teased with the pads of his pointer and middle fingers, prodding for entrance, always careful, but so insistent, like he didn’t fear for a second that Len would ever refuse him. That kind of confidence from Barry did things to Len he couldn’t put a name to. 

He opened his mouth, let Barry slide in his fingers, and brushed his tongue along the slender digits. Len felt Barry twitch between his legs, eager to find a harbor, but he didn’t push for it. He had Len suck on his fingers first, and as soon as Barry pulled them sopping, dripping from Len’s mouth, they sped up in front of his eyes, blurring indistinctly. 

“I’ve only ever tried some of this with myself. Never a partner. Would kinda give away that I’m The Flash,” Barry chuckled. “Wanna explore some uncharted territory with me, Snart? See what you like?” He touched the vibrating fingers to Len’s lips, which was tingly and strange and _wonderful_ , before moving down his chin, and neck, and chest. 

The vibrating, wet fingers teased around Len’s nipple, making him shiver and gasp. Then around the other. Then slower down his stomach. Len was so wet, so hard, imagining where else those fingers might go. The not knowing—though he had an idea—was oddly freeing with someone like Barry, who had goodness stamped into his bones. Kid was playing a dangerous game like an old pro and had Len panting in mere minutes. 

He didn’t touch Len’s cock. He trailed low down his thigh, over his hip, to the other side, down again, and up to right above his entrance, that sensitive patch of skin that made Len quiver. Barry drew his fingers up agonizingly slowly along Len’s shaft, and twirled through the notable wetness leaking from his tip. 

“Sure seems like you like it,” Barry whispered, and shifted the touch of his fingers into the full hold of his hand. Len bucked into him, fighting the desire to rut forward and end this quickly. “Now that wouldn’t be any fun,” Barry said as he pulled his hand away, sensing Len’s urgency. “I have a better idea. On your back again.”

Len didn’t even pause before complying. He was almost shaking, he was so keyed up. “Don’t think you’ll always be able to order me around like this.”

“We’ll see.”

Len couldn’t help grinning. He liked this Barry that didn’t hesitate to challenge him.

Barry situated himself between Len’s legs again, hunkered down low, and reached for the lube. He coated his fingers, making them slicker than the wetness from Len’s mouth. The expression the kid wore was pure mischief, almost daunting, almost…menacing. It reminded Len of their fights, which carried their own sort of pleasure. 

Now Len understood. This wasn’t Barry Allen. Barry Allen wasn’t such a confident powerhouse, oh no, that was reserved for when he wore the suit. This was The Flash, thrumming and in control, as he brought his fingers to Len’s entrance, and in perfect time with the slow twist of the first one pressing inside, Barry parted his lips to suck in Len’s cock. 

Len moaned. He bit it back, choked it down, but he couldn’t not be vocal. It was worse, so much worse, so much _better_ , when that finger started to vibrate again. Curses fell from Len’s lips to beat out the needy whimpers building in the back of his throat. He clutched at the comforter beneath him. Barry around him and inside him at the same time was too much, his powers making him move in a way no one else could. 

Barry was right. Len would never be with anyone who could match him. And that would have been a sobering, bitter thought, if Len wasn’t enjoying himself so much. 

The second finger pressed in, already buzzing, and pushed past the knuckle so, so slowly. Barry coiled his fingers deep inside Len and curled them toward him like gesturing Len closer, brushing directly against his prostate, while Barry bobbed down and took Len all the way down his throat at the same time. Len's moan was positively filthy this time. He was going to come, he could feel it.

“You a moaner, Cold?” Barry asked as he pulled off, right when Len had been on the brink, like the kid knew exactly how much he was torturing him. 

“Only if you earn it,” Len rasped. 

“Oh, I’ll earn it. I like your voice like that. It’s sexy.” He scissored his fingers, slowing the vibrations finally, which Len both mourned the loss of and felt relief from, because he didn’t want to come yet, not when he knew what the finale would bring. 

Barry slid his fingers out of Len and crawled back into position beside him. Len didn’t need to be told; he rolled onto his side, and Barry chuckled as he brought the lube with him and reached over Len to snatch up the condom. 

“Next time, Snart, you can fuck me. But this time, you’re _mine_.”

Len shivered. Next time he was going to show this kid a thing or two about making someone moan. But damn it, he wasn’t complaining. The searing hot press of Barry to his entrance wrecked him, arm snaking around his chest again, dropping to his hip to steady him as Barry pushed just barely inside, so slick, so hot. Len tried to hold his moans back, wanted to make Barry work for it, but everything the kid did pulled such easy, needy noises from him. 

And he was moving so god damn _slow_. Len wanted to push back against Barry, even if the stretch was tight. It had been a while, Len needed the time to adjust, would have appreciated it, because of course Barry was careful, but it was almost worse that he was moving too slow. Len was shaking by the time Barry seated himself fully, and then he just _stayed there_ , inside Len, not moving, and kissed the back of his neck.

“God _damn_ it, kid…”

Barry giggled again, a strangely sinister sound, which alone made Len shudder. “See. So slow,” Barry said, finally pulling back for another stroke in, but even that was sweet agony in its rhythm. “That’s the thing about my powers, Snart. I can slow things way down…like it’s all happening in slow motion. Or speed up…so it feels as fast for me as it looks to you. But we wouldn’t want to do that. Except for…” his voice dropped to a breathy whisper, and then—

“ _Barry_.” Len’s mind blanked out entirely as Barry vibrated inside of him as he moved, pulling out almost entirely and then slowly—fuck, _slowly_ —pushing back in, while his powers made him blur with speed. The contrast was mind-numbing. Len thought that if Barry would only touch him, even a single stroke would be enough for him to come. But Barry didn’t, kept his hand at Len’s hip, and pulled back for another slow thrust home. 

“I like my name on your lips, Snart…like the way you say it. Like that you _know_ it. You. Just you. You’re the only one who’s ever had me like this. The only one.”

A swell of possessive pride filled Len’s chest. Damn right, he was the only one. The only one of Barry’s villains who really _knew_ him. The only one, the only person who Barry could reveal his powers to while intimately connected. 

The kid was his. He wanted to roleplay hero and villain, wanted to feel powerful? Len liked that game on the streets of Central City; he had no qualms about playing it in the bedroom. It meant that Len was the only one who got to see the real Barry, where the cowl and what lay beneath it blurred, and gave Len more control than even Barry realized. 

And fuck did it feel good, the slow slide of Barry inside him, the vibrations, the heat of the kid. Heat, in the right situations, could be so good, Len knew, but he’d never imagined it like this, the way Barry seemed to warm up even more with the lube and the way he moved. Len opened up for him and accepted every sweet inch. And because Barry didn’t touch him, wouldn’t touch him, combined with the slow pace, Len remained right on the edge, never quite where he needed to be, but still feeling so, so good. 

“I’m not speeding up…until you beg me to,” Barry huffed. “How long can you last?”

“How long can _you_ last,” Len said.

Barry laughed and bit the back of Len’s neck where he had kissed him. “That’s what’s so fun about you, Snart. You always…gotta push back.” 

He called Len’s bluff, because apparently he could last indefinitely, which shouldn’t have surprised Len, when he saw how quickly Barry had been hard again last night after coming. Maybe Barry could draw things out for hours, with perfect, unwavering control—fast orgasms one after the other, or one that lasted all night long. Len hoped not, because he couldn’t take anymore. He needed to come, needed Barry to speed up and finish him off. Several pitiful whimpers made it past his lips. 

“Got something to say, Snart?”

Oh, he was such a little shit. Len couldn’t deny that it turned him on more. “Stop fucking around, Barry. Come _on_.”

“Come on, what?” 

“ _Faster_.”

“Ask nicely.”

 _Fuck_ this kid. Len was going to ice him just to spite him after this. He needed to be touched. Needed Barry to go faster. “ _Please_.”

Barry hummed in pleasure, and whispered, “How fast can you handle?”

Another moan ripped from Len’s lips as Barry’s pace quickened—deep, and sharp, and right where Len needed it. Faster, faster, impossibly fast. Len lost his breath, as he imagined Barry blurring behind him. It should have been too much, but _fuck_ , it was something else, leaving every inch of Len prickling with goosebumps. 

Barry still had one arm wedged up along Len’s shoulder, the other braced at his hip. If Barry wasn’t going to touch him, Len had to touch himself. He reached between his legs—

Barry snatched his wrist up with the hand at his hip and held it prisoner against his stomach. “Not yet.”

“ _Barry_.”

Barry’s hand was still, but his hips continued to buzz, and his voice echoed with a quiver in his vocal chords. Len never knew Barry had such individual control over how he moved and used his powers. There were lessons to be learned from this, and even at his most vulnerable, Len never missed an opportunity to file away useful information. 

He moaned again at the sharp thrusts hitting him just right. He was close to coming without being touched, but he didn’t want that. He needed a hand on him—his own, Barry’s, he didn’t care which. 

“No,” Barry said, as if reading his thoughts. “ _Louder_.”

Len was losing his mind. He should hate this. He had never, ever allowed something like this with anyone else. But this was Barry Allen, the god damn Flash, and it felt so, so good. 

So Len gave in. Let himself be loud. Let the moans leave him unhindered. He leaned his head back against Barry’s shoulder, and pressed his hips back harder too. “ _Please_ ,” he begged, playing the game, because even if in Flash’s mind he won this round, Len still won too. He had The Flash here, after all, in his bed—his, all his.

Barry released Len’s wrist and reached down to take him in hand. The vibrations moving through the rest of his body returned to his fingers as they passed into the silky smooth wetness dripping so liberally from Len’s length. The firm, buzzing grip, after being so long denied, so heightened, meant it took only three good strokes before Len sucked in a breath that he held as he finally, finally came. 

He sagged boneless into the bed even as Barry kept on, giving several good thrusts more before Barry followed after him. An all over shudder pulsed through the kid’s body. Len couldn’t describe it—any of it. Couldn’t liken any sensation in his entire life to what Barry had just done to him. All he knew was that someday soon he’d want to feel it again. 

Barry gasped into Len’s shoulder as he stilled, caught his breath, and let out a beautiful, relieved exhale like that was everything he’d ever wanted. He pulled his soiled hand away, careful not to get it on the comforter or on Len, which almost would have been thoughtful if he didn’t accompany pulling out with a swift bite to Len’s neck. Len grimaced but also shivered at the mix of pleasure and pain, harsh but not too rough, just like how Barry fought. 

As Len felt Barry pull away fully, it dawned on him that he hadn’t actually seen Barry put on the condom. He always made sure to witness that. It was just smart business. Len didn’t have regulars. Not anymore. Barely fucked anyone he could stand. He always wore a condom, and always watched his partner put one on if their positions were reversed. 

Len peered over his shoulder and watched as Barry rolled the condom _off_. Sloppy. Always so sloppy with Barry. He had to be better. Had to get his head on straight with this kid and stop getting so easily caught up in his whirlwind. 

But damn, had it been worth it tonight. 

Barry caught his eye, grinned roguishly, and then vanished. Len only knew he’d gone to the half-bath across the room because he could see the light on from where he laid on the bed, see vaguely inside as Barry disposed of the condom, washed his hands, made use of the toilet, and came back with a skip in his step. 

Len rolled onto his back, getting remnants of lube all over his comforter, but he didn’t care. Most of the mess had gone with Barry. 

Barry made to crawl back onto the bed with a predatory gleam in his eyes—shit, was he still hard? Or hard _again_? This kid was going to be the death of Len. But before Barry could reach him, his stomach rumbled loudly and he groaned as he fell forward onto his forearms like he’d felt a wave of dizziness. 

Len chuckled. “Hungry, Scarlet?”

“Urg…starving. I didn’t finish dinner. I need a solid ten thousand calories a day—”

“Ten _thousand_ —”

“And I used up a lot of energy just now,” Barry snickered. He looked up at Len, a little pale and glassy-eyed but still alert. “Hey…that Thai food?”

There he was—that awkward, adorable kid beneath the cowl. “Leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself. I might need a minute.”

“I bet you do,” Barry said, and leaned forward on his hands and knees to kiss Len, gently this time, a light peck to his lips. “Good though, right?” he whispered.

With a few words and a tender kiss, Barry summed up all the reasons why Len trusted him enough to even entertain what they were doing. “Good. Can’t wait to pay you back for it.”

Another low giggle which, if Len wasn’t so thoroughly spent, might have rekindled his desires right then and there.

Barry zipped from the bed, redressed, if his suddenly missing clothing and shoes were any indication, and left Len to fend for himself. Distantly, Len heard the sounds of Barry rummaging in the kitchen. 

Len spread out on the bed and took a few slow breaths to still his pulse. His adrenaline and endorphins were still sky-high. Only a good heist, a good fight, ever made him feel this blissful. Though especially when those things included Barry Allen. This added dimension to their relationship was a solid win, Len decided. He’d teach Barry a lesson next time, and enjoy taking the kid apart as payback. 

Slowly, Len swung his legs off the bed and gingerly made his way to the bathroom to clean up. When he padded down the stairs a few minutes later, barefoot and comfortably dressed in grey cotton sleep pants and a long-sleeved navy T-shirt, Barry was situated on a stool at the kitchen island, digging into several of the remaining containers of leftovers. Len had barely touched them last night. He noticed that the infamous shoes were now placed at the door where they belonged. Smart kid. 

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Barry? Thought you couldn’t meet until tomorrow night.”

Barry faced Len somewhat sideways from the end of the island, nearly dropping his fork as he shoveled noodles into his mouth. He finished chewing and swallowing his current bite, but his eyes darted to the countertop before he replied. A shadow of something fierce and angry flashed across his face. The smile he forced when he looked up again didn’t fool Len for a second.

“Plans changed. Needed a break. You sounded like a really good _bad_ idea.”

Len smirked. Kid obviously wasn’t interested in divulging more. Fair enough. “That, I can promise you, will always be true.”

Barry grinned, dug into another bite of noodles, then offered the container to Len.

“I’m good, thanks. But tell me, Barry,” he crossed to his liquor cabinet—he could use that drink he didn’t have last night, “this going to be an ongoing occurrence?”

“Me eating your leftovers?” Barry asked with a tease at the corners of his lips that he finished with a glance down Len’s body. “Or fucking you better than anyone else you’ve ever had.”

Len felt a shock of desire stir in his belly as he pulled down his whiskey bottle and poured himself two liberal fingers; this version of Barry he definitely wanted to see more of. “That’s pretty bold for someone barely old enough to buy me a drink.”

“Fuck you, I’m twenty-six. And do you really want to bring age into this?”

Len really didn’t. He turned around and took a sip from his drink. 

“Besides, I thought we had some promises to keep,” Barry raised an eyebrow at him, and popped an egg roll into his mouth obscenely.

Len eyed Barry sitting there in just jeans and a T-shirt stretching across his finely muscled chest. Those promises would be worth every risk, he knew they would be, now that he had gotten a taste, but he had to ask, “What happens the next time I pull a heist?”

“You admitting you’re planning one?”

“Cute. But you can’t con me as well as you think you can. You overheard me and Lisa at the coffee shop. Well played with the spilled drink, Barry, but you had a plan in mind from the start, didn’t you?”

Barry looked momentarily flustered. He set his fork down and summoned that cryptic, playful expression that made Len want to bend him over the countertop, no matter how spent he was. “Maybe. As for your next heist, we have an agreement. Same rules apply. If I find out or get called in, I’ll try to stop you, but I won’t turn you over to the police as long as you don’t kill anyone, don’t hurt any innocents, and don’t tell anyone my identity. Deal? There’s no reason that should interfere with this.”

Huh. Len hadn’t expected it to be that easy. But then maybe Barry wasn’t thinking this through. Kid had such a strong streak of good in him, he’d likely have a harder time separating business from pleasure than he expected. “Deal,” Len said anyway. He'd offered as much as he planned to about his upcoming score, and even if it all blew up in his face, he still had eighteen days to enjoy the ride.

Barry finished off the last of one of the containers. He’d already finished one before Len got down the stairs. He snatched up another egg roll instead of the third container and ogled Len leaning back against the counter with his ankles crossed, one hand on his arm as he sipped his whiskey. “I like the suits. Like the leather. Like this too. Guess you just look good in everything, Snart. And nothing.”

Len flicked his tongue along the rim of his glass. This kid understood all right—the game never stopped. “No mention of the parka, Barry? I’m insulted.” 

“The costume overall is…cute,” Barry tilted his head. _Ha—cute, he says_. “But seeing you out of it, it’s hard to enjoy something that keeps you so fully covered. Maybe you can tailor it down, make it a little more…skin tight.” 

“Like yours? I don’t know, kid, you think Cisco would give me a discount on a redesign?”

Barry’s smile dropped, as if hearing the engineer’s name spoiled his dinner. He pushed the last container away from him and hopped off the stool. “I should go.”

Len sat up straight to follow him. Whatever had brought Barry here tonight instead of tomorrow had definitely involved Cisco, that much was certain. Barry really needed to work on not being so transparent. “So soon? You haven’t eaten me out of house and home yet. A quick fuck and half a meal? Didn’t realize you were such a cheap date, Scarlet.” He set his drink down on the counter as he followed Barry to the door. 

His comment prompted that lovely ‘I hate how much I like you’ smile that Len always managed to goad out of him. “Fuck you,” Barry said again—and that should not be as hot as it was, hearing Barry curse so casually.

Len cocked his head and licked his lower lip. “Yes. You did. And I’m looking forward to round two.” 

Barry chuckled as he finished putting on his shoes, and stepped into Len’s space, close enough that most people would have backed up a step. Len didn’t. “And three and four and…however much higher you can count.” 

“I can count pretty high.” In truth, Len could win most games of pool by doing geometry in his head, calculating force and angles with adept precision. But Barry didn’t need to know that. 

“I’ll call you,” Barry leaned closer. 

“Maybe I’ll call you.” 

“Maybe I’ll answer,” Barry bantered back. And then he kissed Len, all heat and power and promise, with a gentle tug at Len’s bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled back. “Be seeing you, Snart,” he said as he backed toward the door, throwing Len’s own words back at him. 

Oh, Len could definitely get used to this, for however long it lasted. 

XXXXX

Barry considered for all of two seconds whether or not he should head back to STAR Labs. He was still too fired up, too buzzed on the thrill of sex and having Snart completely under his thrall. He knew he’d have to apologize to Cisco eventually, but he didn’t want to deal with that now. 

He looked at his phone and saw that he had four missed calls from his friend. Shit. He’d deal with it tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to go home, put on something warm since he’d left his jacket at the labs, and think about what his next play would be with Snart. 

The thief was making it too easy. Barry had all of the control, and Snart wasn’t even making an attempt to take it back. Not in any way that would work. Oh, Barry would let the man fuck him next time—he looked forward to it—but by then he’d already have Snart so twisted up in wanting him, Barry would still have the power no matter what they did in the bedroom. He’d make sure that every time they were together, he’d leave Snart begging for more. He’d make it so good, be so amazing to the man, Snart wouldn’t be able to imagine life without him. 

No shred of guilt wavered in Barry’s gut at what he was doing. What else could he feel for Snart other than hatred? The illusive Captain Cold was even planning to steal something again, couldn’t stop himself, always just a criminal at his core, a _villain_. Snart felt no remorse, so why should Barry? What more proof did Barry need that he would never, ever change? 

Barry did hate him, and giving him everything he wanted only to take it away was going to feel so gratifying. Finally, Barry had the power that Eobard had taken away from him. This time Barry was the puppet master, and the revenge he hadn’t been able to take out on the man who killed his mother, he’d take out on Snart. 

After all, it wasn’t like Snart didn’t deserve it. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will not always be bottom!Len, in fact, the rest will likely be a little more Len on top heavy, though they'll switch alot too, like I always write them. :-) Comments are love! Seriously, you guys are the most amazing readers ever, and your comments really spur me on to write more. I am so excited to keep going with this. :-) Thank you so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry mends fences only to break down facing something else, while Len continues to plan his next heist...and so does the mystery villain terrorizing Central City.

Barry walked into STAR Labs the next morning early enough to have a good half hour to spare before his shift started at the precinct. He carried a box full of donuts and a drink holder loaded with coffee for him, Cisco, and Caitlin. Joe had given him a stunned look when he bolted down the stairs to leave ahead of him for once. It helped that Barry had actually gotten a solid eight hours of blissful, dreamless sleep for the first time in…wow, it had to be _months_. 

He felt amazing. Invigorated. All thanks to Snart. Now Barry had to make things right with Cisco. 

“Barry!” Caitlin said in pleased astonishment as he entered the cortex. She and Cisco were already hard at work. 

Caitlin rose from where she sat to meet Barry at the table he set his spoils on. Cisco, situated at a closer desk, rolled back from his computer screen to look at Barry but didn’t get up.

“This is a nice surprise,” Caitlin said.

“Did you actually go to bed last night or come straight here?” Cisco asked neutrally, eyeing the offered coffee and donuts—and Barry—with equal stoicism.

“How late did you two play last night?” Caitlin raised an eyebrow as she snatched up her customary fritter from the box and claimed a coffee. 

“Not late,” Cisco said, fake smile covering the truth from her, “but Barry had some energy to burn afterward. How'd you decide to do that, anyway?”

“Oh, uhhh…” Barry averted his eyes and scratched the back of his neck. “What did you call it before, Cisco? _Recreation_?” 

“ _Barry_ ,” Caitlin scoffed at him. 

Cisco just stared. 

“I slept great,” Barry added, but not as a challenge. He looked at Cisco with pleading in his eyes. 

“Well I for one don’t need to hear any details of the cause,” Caitlin said, “but I will definitely enjoy the effect. Thank you, Barry.”

“Of course,” Barry brightened as he turned to her. “I know I haven’t been the best company lately. I just wanted to do something small to show you guys how much I appreciate what you do for me.”

Caitlin smiled warmly.

Cisco gave an inaudible but very animated sigh. Barry saw the way he deflated and how his firmly constructed wall finally started to crumble. “Hey, Caitlin? Can you check on that order for Dr. McGee? I want to make sure we have everything covered in case Barry sees her later.”

“Oh, sure. Good idea.” She set her donut on a napkin by her desk after taking an initial bite, but took her coffee with her as she headed out of the room. “I have some items to add to the list of things we don’t have in stock, but also a few ideas for other resources she might try.” She left the room at an unhurried pace.

Cisco still didn’t rise from his chair. Barry plucked his own coffee from the holder then grabbed Cisco’s as well. He approached his friend with what he knew was his saddest, sorriest ‘puppy dog expression’, as Joe had dubbed it once, since, “You are not allowed to use that look on me when you’re in trouble, son.” Naturally, Barry used it every time.

He held Cisco’s coffee out to him. “It’s your favorite.” Cisco liked the hazelnut latte from Jitters; no foam, extra whipped cream.

Today he crossed his arms. “So it’s hoes before bros now? And coffee's supposed to make up for it?”

Barry would have laughed in any other situation. He knew he deserved this treatment, but he’d just been so…angry last night. He smiled sheepishly. “You know how Caitlin hates that phrase.”

Cisco fought a twitch at his lips. 

Barry had him, but he let his own smile drop and met Cisco’s eyes steadily. “I’m sorry. The whole point of last night was to not get caught up in everything that’s… _wrong_ inside of me lately. I turned it all back on you, and that’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Cisco said. He dropped his arms, his stony expression crumbling like that non-existent wall between them. “But it’s not fair what you’re turning back on _yourself_ either. You don’t get to use me to attack _you_ , Barry.”

“What?” Barry frowned; he hadn’t thought of it that way at all. 

Cisco sat forward in his chair, his eyes downturned in concern. “I don’t think you’re a killer, Barry, and you shouldn’t either. You did what you had to do and it sucks. But if you need to talk about it so you don’t get all up in my face next time—” 

“No. I mean…maybe? I don’t know. I don’t really…want to talk about it,” Barry said, wishing he wasn’t holding the drinks so he could do something with his hands. “It’s not about Atom Smasher and Sand Demon. Not only them.”

“Then what—”

“It’s _everything_ ,” Barry tried to keep his voice down from alerting Caitlin, but the words erupted from him anyway. “All the things I’ve done, all the things that have happened to me. Just… _imploding_ and…” he clenched his eyes shut and opened them again to see Cisco still watching him patiently, “…being a burden to everyone.”

“Barry,” Cisco said it in that damn sympathetic tone that Barry was getting so sick of hearing from everyone. “You’re not a burden to me.”

Barry wanted to believe that. He knew Cisco cared, that Cisco was his friend, but a persistent voice in the back of his head still parroted the same thing he’d been telling himself for months. 

_You wouldn’t feel that way if I wasn’t The Flash._

“Barry, you know you’re nothing like…” Cisco started to say, but stopped himself. 

“What?” Barry prompted. 

The way Cisco looked at him, it wasn’t sympathy; it was pity. “Nothing.” 

A pang twinged in Barry’s chest, and he fought not to crush the coffee cups in his hands. He knew what… _who_ Cisco was thinking of.

“Look, Barry, I didn’t mean to bring up Snart last night,” Cisco said. “Obviously, you have plenty of reason to hate on the guy. I do too. Like you said, he kidnapped me and my brother. Not to mention Caitlin. And there was that whole betrayed us and caused a bunch of dangerous meta humans to get away thing. I’m practically president of the anti-Captain Cold fan club—” 

“I get it, Cisco,” Barry interrupted; he really didn’t want to talk about Snart right now. “I’m sorry I blew up. It was stupid to get so upset.” 

“No. It wasn’t stupid, it was…harsh. Hard, fine. But not stupid. It’s okay, Barry. You’re working through some things, I get that.” 

“But it’s not an excuse for me to be a dick to you. You being understanding doesn’t mean I don’t need to apologize.” 

Cisco smiled, a little sad but better than looking at Barry like there was something…wrong with him, even though Barry knew there was. “And I appreciate that, man. And the coffee, which…is really starting to sound good about now.”

Barry coughed out a laugh as Cisco eyed the drink in his hand. He held it out to him again, and this time Cisco took it. They both downed a couple much needed sips to clear their heads.

“Delicious,” Cisco said, causing Barry to smile again. “Thanks. Really. So…wanna see what I worked on last night after you left? Or did you want to tell me about this girl whose bed you talked your way into?” He pushed playfully at Barry’s chest. “ _Heartbreaker_.”

Barry chuckled as he darted his eyes to the side. _That’s the idea…_ “How about what you worked on? Sorry I left you in the lurch last night, Cisco, but you ended up with a breakthrough or something?” Barry could tell when Cisco was excited, even if he’d been trying to hide it up until now. 

With the air cleared between them, Cisco’s smile split his face and he kicked away from his desk, rolling happily across the cortex until he came to the table with the Camo suit on it. He took another quick sip of his coffee before setting it aside. As Barry walked over, Cisco stood and held up a simple black—well, it looked like a sack, but as Cisco stretched it, Barry saw that it was a mask. 

“I used the same printer for the Flash suit, so it’s part tripolymer with a few upgrades based on what I could figure out from Camouflage’s fabric.” As Cisco pulled on the mask and turned it in the light, Barry saw how it shimmered—iridescent. “Think of it like being covered in dozens of tiny little mirrors.”

“To reflect the light.” Barry nodded. 

“More than just light, dude. A combination of light, projection, and _reflection_ —basically what I’m calling technochromes, which should make the suit work even better than what Camouflage does naturally. I’m still working on the right triggering mechanism, but for now, I have the mask connected to my tablet.” He grinned as he did some quick typing on the tablet currently lying next to the Camo suit. 

The black mask in his hands shimmered more prominently, like a mirage, or ripples in the air, nearly vanishing, but not completely, as Barry could still see a faint outline of it. When Cisco stretched the fabric more fully and pulled it down over his head, however, the technochromes went to work. The shimmers that even Camo had occasionally revealed if Barry was looking close enough were nonexistence as Cisco stood before Barry—headless. 

“Holy cloak of invisibility!” Barry laughed.

“Ichabod Crane, beware!” Cisco boomed in a deep voice, spreading his arms to show off his currently headless form.

Barry laughed harder. “That is _awesome_. And...seriously creepy. Please take it off and never wear it by itself again.”

A scream erupted from behind them, and Barry and Cisco both jerked to the entrance into the labs. Caitlin stood with a panicked look on her face and a hand to her chest, while her other hand clutched knuckle-white at her coffee. Just as quickly, her shock dissolved into furious anger. 

“Cisco!” she cried in her most serious, cringe-worthy voice. “I told you not to put that thing on again!” 

A disembodied—or at least disem-headed—voice snickered. Cisco pulled the mask off with a guilty grin. When the fabric wasn’t stretched, the mask gave itself away again, a faint flicker that distorted Cisco’s fingers. “I may have already surprised Caitlin with my accomplishment when she came in this morning.” 

Caitlin huffed dramatically.

“That is…” Barry bit back a laugh, then trailed when he saw the challenging expression on Caitlin’s face, “not funny, obviously. So not funny.” 

“But useful!” Cisco jumped in. “Imagine when I finish the entire suit. Barry will be super fast _and_ invisible. The bad guys won’t know what hit ‘em. Literally.” He tossed the mask back onto the table and shut the program off on his tablet, leaving a small crumpled pile of shiny black fabric.

Caitlin shook her head at them but crossed to her desk to return to her fritter. 

“Really cool, Cisco, can’t wait to see the finished product,” Barry said, as they crossed to the other side of the cortex again. 

“Wanna help me work on the rest of the suit tomorrow, after work?” Cisco asked. “You can still do a quick patrol first and be ready if anything comes up.” 

“Why not tonight?” 

Cisco plopped down into his chair and arched a no-nonsense eyebrow while holding his coffee cup beneath his chin like a super villain holding a cat. “Because. Tonight you’re going to family dinner.” 

“What?” Barry’s mirth plunged to the pit of his stomach. He scowled at both of his friends as he realized, “Iris talked to you, didn’t she?”

Cisco and Caitlin exchanged a look, which was a definite ‘yes’. _Damn it_. 

“We didn’t tell her anything that’s been going on, Barry,” Caitlin said. “That’s for you to decide if and when you’re ready to confide in her. But closing yourself off from the people who care about you is only going to make things worse.” 

“I know that, I just—”

“Look,” Cisco broke in, “are you getting laid tonight?”

For once, Caitlin had no reaction, other than the same expectant look that Cisco wore. 

Barry squirmed under their scrutiny. “No, wasn’t planning on it. Though that was the original idea before—”

“Before you had your booty call last night instead, right?” Cisco said. “Which means you’re free now, and you owe yourself and your family some private time.” 

A dozen words of dissention rose up in Barry’s mind but froze on the tip of his tongue. Anything he said would just be an excuse. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with them. He’d barely been home lately. He loved Joe. He loved Iris. And Wally was just finding his feet; he didn’t deserve Barry’s ire. 

Barry fought down the tension and anger churning in his gut. “I hate that I know you’re right.”

“But we are right,” Caitlin smiled. “Baby steps, Barry. Just try. Spend a little time with your family. If we need you for Flash work, we’ll call you.”

Barry nodded, but he couldn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth every time they called the Wests his family. Joe would always be his father. Iris would always be his best friend. But Barry’s _family_ , in more than one sense, was far, far away. “Okay. I’m sure Joe will expect it anyway, even insist when I see him today. It’s going to be a long shift though. This Mercury Labs case is impossible. Joe’s going through the motions of questioning all the employees, but he’s practically on a first name basis with all of them as it is, after the other break-ins. It’s none of those people, even if it does look like an inside job. Must be someone new, with some serious tech.”

“Or meta powers?” Caitlin queried. 

“I honestly have no idea.” Barry held up his hands. “The only thing we have to go on so far is the timeframe and that the cameras were tampered with right before the heist went down. How, though…no clue.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Cold?” Cisco said with a short laugh, then betrayed in his eyes, only enough for Barry to see, that he hadn’t meant to bring up the source of their argument again. 

Barry mustered a smile. “No ice residue, remember?”

“Right, I know,” Cisco relaxed. “Still…can’t think of anyone else who could leave a scene that clean.” 

“Maybe we can take a look, Barry,” Caitlin offered, “after we send off Dr. McGee’s order. Which was very nice of you, by the way. I’ll email you the updated list in case you see her. Otherwise, once we finish getting everything together, we’ll send it straight on to her office. Maybe something from the original list will give us a better idea of what the thief was after.” 

“Money,” Barry said. “Seems pretty plain from what Joe’s discovered so far that the thief went for the high ticket items. We’re trying to see if we can catch any of the loot going through local fences, but this sort of thing is likely being sold at a higher level, through people we’d need an in with to even know what was going down.”

“If only the CCPD had someone undercover with the mob about now,” Cisco said far too seriously for Barry not to laugh. 

“You know it doesn’t work like the movies nearly as much as you think it does, right? Usually, all that action and adventure comes down to just one nerd in a lab.”

“Well then…you better get cracking, Barry,” Cisco teased him. 

Barry grinned but was reminded to glance at his watch. At his speed, he could afford to dawdle for a few minutes more, but he didn’t want to take any risks of being late the one day he was running ahead of schedule. “And on that note, I should actually head out. Enjoy the donuts, guys. I’ll just…” He flipped open the lid of the box and downed two glazed donuts at Flash speed, then snagged a third and forth on his pointer finger for the road. He’d still left all of the ones Cisco and Caitlin liked best. “If anything comes up, I’ll stop in, otherwise…see you tomorrow?”

“See ya, Barry,” Cisco smiled—fences mended, even if Barry honestly didn’t deserve any best friends who were as good to him as Iris and Cisco. 

The idea of family dinner left him vaguely nauseated, but he pushed those feelings aside in favor of remembering how peaceful he had felt that morning after a good night’s sleep. Everything would get better from now on, he knew it. He’d patched things up with Cisco. Even the Mercury Labs theft had to have a break in the case at some point. And in the meantime, even if Barry wasn’t seeing Snart tonight, there were plenty of days ahead. 

As he zipped out of the labs, eating his remaining donuts at a reasonable enough pace so he’d be done with them by the time he arrived behind the station to walk in through the doors like a normal-speed person, he wondered, however briefly, if he should feel bad that what he was doing to Snart made him feel so good. He should feel guilty, at the very least, no matter how terrible of a person Snart was. But he didn’t. He felt better. He felt alive and powerful and _free_. 

No, Barry wasn’t going to stop using Snart any time soon. 

XXXXX

Len had slept so soundly, he almost hadn’t wanted to get out of bed that morning. But there were things to do, people to see, a theft to carry out. And his first stop of the morning was at the electronics store at the edge of his neighborhood. 

Len didn’t often think of it as _his_ neighborhood. He didn’t run it the way the Santinis ran their area. Or the Darbinyans. The Dunkirks. The Mendozas. Whether a small time family or a larger one, those organizations controlled their spheres of influence with iron fists and fear. Len was in the game for a higher calling—for the thrill of the chase, the challenge, not for power. A good score. A comfortable way of living whenever he wasn’t in the midst of a heist. But other than that, he didn’t need minions or Mom and Pop stores kowtowing to him. 

The fact that the businesses inside his ten block radius home sweet home chose to offer things on occasion—information, sending the boys in blue on wild goose chases, food and equipment—well, that just meant Len was respected. He didn’t need to be feared. Not by these people. That he reserved for those who crossed him. 

If someone came into his neighborhood thinking they could oust him, or outdo him, or take him down, Len retaliated appropriately. Likewise, if someone tried to hustle his businesses, his neighbors, the people who worked at Saints and Sinners, those who volunteers at or stayed in the abuse shelter—that was the same as knocking on Len’s door and slighting him to his face. He didn’t tolerate it. 

It was symbiotic. Not altruistic. 

Len was sore in all the right places as he showered, dressed, and readied himself to meet the morning. Had to go with a high-necked collar, given the sorry state Barry had left several places on his neck and shoulders. No matter. Len preferred to be fully covered. Black mock-turtle neck, charcoal grey jacket thicker than his leather. A bit dressed up for the day’s errands, but he liked to present a put together façade whenever he wasn’t trying to intimidate. 

No cold gun, but Len always carried a piece, tucked into his slacks beneath his jacket, completely hidden and likely unnecessary given his destination, but best to be safe. The Dunkirks in particular had been nosing around lately, and the Irish mafia in Central City was more formidable than some of the others, despite being a smaller presence. 

Len hit the streets smiling in earnest at the smells and sounds of his city, coming to life with Spring as the last of Winter ebbed away. Len enjoyed this weather best, when the air was still crisp but people filled the streets with bustling activity. Several individuals he passed offered him a welcome smile or at least a polite nod if they recognized him. No coffee this morning—Len had taken care of that at home; a quick cup, a simple breakfast. He didn’t want to be distracted while talking shop with Hartley. 

The walk rejuvenated Len even more than his productive night had or his restful sleep by the time he reached the shop— _Andrews’ Electronics_. Simple name, simple sign, simple everything, but the best quality in town from home electronics to more…complicated requests. 

Arden Andrews had been a supplier to many of the mob families in Central City over the years, depending on who owned the neighborhood at any given time. He provided surveillance equipment, EMPs, anything that could help a heist go smoother—but never weapons. Some families had pressured him to make silencers, scopes, even guns themselves, but he always refused. Risked his life several times in the process turning down people who had big guns and short tempers. Len respected that, and never pushed for more than what the man was willing to offer. His son did most of the work now, as well as their newest employee.

“We don’t open for another five—” Hartley stopped his irritable greeting when he looked up at the sound of the bell to see Len walking toward him. “Oh. Hey, boss.”

“Hartley.” Len nodded. He crossed the shop to the worktable to the left of the cashier desk, where Hartley had a radio taken apart. Anything more sensitive was worked on in the back rooms. “Better watch your bedside manner. You’ll scare away all the paying customers.”

Hartley cocked his head with a smug smile. “Trust me, my _bedside_ manner is just fine. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He turned back to the radio. He was as casually dressed as Len ever saw him, which wasn’t saying much, in a tucked in button-down shirt and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. 

Len leaned forward on one elbow on the table and crossed his ankles as he observed the kid. “That looks like it’ll take more than a minute.”

“Not this,” Hartley said without looking up. “I’m waiting for Arty. He’s late. Again. Once he’s here, he can watch the shop while I take you into the back.”

Arty—Arden Andrews _Junior_. “My, my, Hartley, you proposition all your clients that easily?”

At last, a smile wormed its way onto Hartley’s face. He flicked his eyes up at Len, his hands still expertly removing parts from the radio. “Only the well-dressed ones. But I _meant_ so we can discuss your gun and the gas delivery system you requested.”

“Still having trouble with the whole ‘only discuss illicit business in the back’ part of the job, huh, Hart?” a new voice spoke just before Arty appeared from out of the curtain leading into the workshop. He had reddish brown hair and blue eyes, scruff along his face, and wore jeans and a flannel shirt that Hartley immediately sneered at like the fabric itself offended his senses. 

“You know it’s two minutes to opening?” he complained to the man who was more his boss than Len was, to be fair. 

“So I’m not late then,” Arty said. 

“Not late is being fifteen minutes _early_.”

“That what they teach you in prep school?” Arty turned to Len as he reached him, ignoring the affronted scoff Hartley offered. “Mr. Snart, always a pleasure.” He extended his hand. 

Len stood up straight and accepted the gesture. Most of the business owners around the area didn’t bother, either because they knew him too well, or not well enough to know where his boundaries lay, but Arty always initiated a handshake. Even though Len wasn’t much for unnecessary physical touch, he appreciated the man’s boldness. He was about Lisa’s age, Len guessed, so a few years older than Hartley, not that Len thought that would stop either of them if—

He glanced between them as he shook Arty’s hand—the way Hartley looked away, biting his lip petulantly as he feigned working on the radio again said enough. They weren’t sleeping together, but the kid was interested. Arty might be interested too, or just liked to tease Hartley as an easy target. His jabs were never mean-spirited though, more congenial, playful. 

Len filed the information away for later. “Regretting your decision to hire my young protégé, Arty? Perhaps I shouldn’t have recommended him if he’s giving you so much trouble.”

“Nah, he’s better than slave labor with his perfectionism. Good thing I don’t pay overtime.”

“You do too,” Hartley grumbled. “Good thing _I’m_ the one keeping all of your clients happy by actually getting things back to them in a timely manner, and in better working order than you could ever do alone.”

“He’s so modest too,” Arty grinned. He and Len chuckled as Hartley muttered something in Russian. Len hadn’t yet admitted to the kid that he spoke most of the same languages, but he figured for now he could refrain from giving away that Hartley had just called Arty a _beautiful idiot_. “Anything I can do for you today, Mr. Snart?”

“Thanks, Arty, but Hartley has me covered.”

With a deep sigh of exasperation at both of them, Hartley left his radio tinkering, and moved out from behind the worktable to gesture Len into the back. “Come on. You,” he pointed at Arty, “open for business already. I am not going to be sorry if your dad decides to leave this place to me instead of you.”

“He’s threatened it enough times since you started working here,” Arty snickered, not at all perturbed by the sentiment. “Who am I to deny a better option? Maybe you’ll take pity on me and still let me work here.”

“Please, I’ll kick you to the curb so fast, you’ll have road rash.”

Arty just laughed louder as he headed for the door to flip over the OPEN sign, and Hartley turned away in a huff. Len followed behind him with a barely contained grin of his own. He liked Hartley. Kid had a lot of potential. Definitely deserved better than some 9-5 minimum wage paycheck, and commission on the side for illegal business. Circumstance, bad luck, and scum for a father had led him—and Len—here instead. 

But Hartley wasn’t deterred. Under a new name, he’d been making patents for himself for months, slowly building himself up, even if he could never be a public face while on the run as the Pied Piper, especially if he kept working for Len, which he didn’t seem too eager to stop doing. Len wasn’t about to press his luck by asking about that though. 

“First, for the gas,” Hartley got straight to business once they’d left the main shop behind, delving into the darkness of the back rooms, and then coming upon the much brighter lights that shone down on the worktables. He picked up what looked like a simple spray can from one of them. “As easy as it looks. When you’re ready to use it, press here,” he held the top down and a puff of air escaped, “with about a five foot range.” He picked up a hose next. “Given the type of containment you described to me, and the nozzle, this attachment and hose should work to transfer the gas into the canister. Need anything demonstrated for that part?”

Len eyed the hose, the can itself, and thought back to what Lisa had returned with to hold the gas in the safe house. “Looks self-explanatory to me.” 

“Good.” Hartley set both items down again. “You can take these with you when you go. I’ll get you a bag. As for the gun…which you didn’t bring with you again.” He scanned his eyes down Len’s body, not appreciatively, though he didn’t shy from lingering on certain areas, and pursed his lips when he got to the obvious lack of any bulge at Len’s hip. 

“Give me a good reason to leave the gun in your care, Hartley,” Len said, “and next time, I will. You have the blueprints.” 

“That isn’t the same, trust me. But fine. The current levels are adequate for inflicting everything from simple frostbite to pretty much instant death, but if you want a few more options for handling cops that get in your way, or wayward heroes in sexy red tripolymer,” he added with a faint smirk that Len echoed, “you need a cold _field_. A projection of cold with yourself at the center, protected, while the rest of the room, however large we might make the radius, plummets to below freezing conditions, and hopefully, slows everything down. You said you wanted something less…lethal. That’ll do it.” 

“And you can accomplish that for me? Simple controls added to the gun?”

“Easily.”

“Good work, Hartley,” Len nodded. He trusted the kid with his gun, but he was understandably protective of the weapon that had helped give him his namesake. “Mick was wondering if you could do something similar for him, or any other upgrades.” 

“Sure. I have some ideas for his gun too. You can bring them both in.” 

That would help keep Mick appeased leading up to the heist, but, “Lisa’s going to be jealous,” he shook his head. She hated when he got new toys without her. 

“Actually, I have something for her too. Very classic spy femme fatale that she wondered if I could make for her. I said it was stupid and ridiculous and that yes, I absolutely would have to try since she asked, so hopefully I’ll have a prototype ready about the same time your guns are done.”

Len folded his hands in front of him as his smile turned somewhat crooked. “It’s knockout lipstick, isn’t it? 

“How’d you know?”

Ever the kid at heart. _The Ambushers_ was a guilty pleasure movie of theirs when they were younger. Along with a few other older films, though usually Lisa didn’t appreciate too many before 1980. In it, a lady spy used poisoned lipstick while sipping on a drink that acted as the antidote. 

“We change, we age, we grow, but some things always stay the same, and I know my little sister. If I bring the guns in later today, how soon can you have everything done? Within a two week time period? I need to be able to test everything out with at least a few days leeway before the job at the museum.” 

“Give me a week,” Hartley said dismissively, looking unimpressed as he crossed his arms, disappointed that Len would think so little of him. “Eight to nine days max.”

“Done. Usual fee and overhead for the Andrews?”

“Only on the guns. Lisa gave me a real challenge with the chemistry for the lipstick. That’s on the house.”

Len smirked. “Careful, at this rate she’s likely to ask to keep you. She always wanted a baby brother.”

Hartley snorted. “I’d take you two over my parents any day.” 

“Well,” Len preened, spreading his hands to encompass the room filled with contraband, “we’re clearly better role models.” 

Hartley grabbed a bag—cloth, dark, not see-through plastic by any means—as Len inspected the spray can and hose. He didn’t realize that his stance at the table tilted his neck enough that one of his many marks from Barry peeked up out of his turtle neck until Hartley mentioned it.

“Oh…why, Captain Cold, what were you up to last night?” he said with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he handed over the bag. He made to reach for the mark, but smartly pulled back before following through. He’d made the mistake of touching Len unbidden once before, when they first met, and had stayed on Len’s bad side for days. “Or should I say who?”

Now that they had an easy rapport between them, Len accepted the jest graciously. “That’s personal, Hartley. And I’ll ask that you not tell my sister about it if you see her before I do. Though she suspects I have a regular.” 

Hartley leaned casually against the worktable while Len filled the bag. “Didn’t think you dated.” 

“I don’t. Conflict of interest most of the time. This is…recreational only.” 

“Lucky you. I could use some recreation,” Hartley sighed wistfully. 

Len cast his gaze back toward the front of the shop. “Any particular reason you’re not pursuing any?” He didn’t mean to get involved, getting too attached to his crew could prove troublesome, but then his crew was his sister, his best friend, and this genius kid, so it seemed inevitable that he’d get too close over time. Lisa said it was his big brother complex, which he vehemently denied.

Hartley took a moment to process what Len had implied. He glanced away. “Please. Arty is so…lowbrow.” 

“And you’re a snob. I know. But every beauty needs a tumble with a beast now and again. As long as he’s a gentle beast in the bedroom, of course, or else I’ll have to ice him on your behalf.” 

That pulled out a real smile from Hartley again; Len always managed a few. Maybe part of him did enjoy having someone around who looked to him for more than just sex or orders. “I can take care of myself. But thanks. The thing about you, Snart,” he pushed from the able and summoned a little of his flirtatious nature, “is I can never tell if you’re the beauty or the beast when it comes to your sex life.” 

“I like to play both sides,” Len said honestly, “depending on my mood. And my partner.” 

“Is that a cultured versus uncultured rebuttal or a sign of your sexuality?” Hartley eyed him just shy of devilish. 

Len chuckled and leaned in close to the kid. “This beast you want nothing to do with, Hartley, trust me.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes as if he was disappointed, but Len could read deeper into the kid’s tells; he didn’t want Len other than harboring a passing crush and an appreciation for him physically. But Arty… 

As Len hefted the bag to take his leave, Hartley’s demeanor shifted, tense and antsy suddenly now that he knew his time with Len was limited. 

“Something else on your mind?” Len asked.

Hartley relaxed at being read so effortlessly, but his eyes betrayed his worry. “I saw Sean Dunkirk in the area again. Couple days ago. Arty said not to worry, people like that are always snooping around, but I figured you should know. He didn’t do anything. I couldn’t tell if he was carrying, but…”

Len stood taller as he addressed Hartley seriously. “Always tell me immediately when something like this comes up. The Andrews never like to worry, it’s in their blood. But the Dunkirks have been showing more presence lately. Might pose a problem. You keep your gloves on hand here in the shop?”

Hartley steeled his expression with a firm nod. “Always.” 

“Then keep your eyes open. We need to be focused on the heist, but if they’ve caught wind of it, they might try something while they think I’m distracted.” 

“Got it, boss.” 

Hartley was a very dutiful and diligent soldier for someone who outwardly expressed so little love for authority. He liked having someone to turn to, someone to make up for…others who hadn’t been there. Len understood that, even if it filled him with peril because he shouldn’t be that for anyone. 

Hartley walked him to the door. Arty was busy helping another early customer—a legit one this time. 

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” Len said as he left. To ease the kid’s concerns, he added a quick smile. “And Hart, try to be nice on occasion. You’d be surprised how much a little honey can lure in even the least likely target.” He gave a not at all subtle gesture of his head at Arty, which made Hartley roll his eyes as dramatically as ever, but also…blush. 

XXXXX

He never realized that his brief and somewhat failure of a criminal past would ever amount to so much _success_. And all it had taken was the Particle Accelerator explosion at STAR Labs to give him the edge he needed. 

Now he stood before what remained of his haul from Mercury Labs, reflected back at him a dozen times over in the mirrors spanning every inch and edge of his hideout. It was so much more than a hideout though. Not some room or warehouse in a bad part of town, but a pocket in the fabric of existence itself that no one else could ever find. 

His meager connections to the underworld of Central City had already scaled much higher since his return. He’d taken time off, time away to hone his new skills, to plan, and build, and prepare. Now was the time. He’d gathered enough blackmail materials on the heads of the city—what was left of the Santinis, the Mendozas, and all the rest—that getting an audience with the real fences for the high paying black market dealers was a breeze. He’d made thousands from what he’d sold already, and he had so much more to go. 

But it wasn’t enough. This one job gave him the money he needed, but not the credibility. Sure, he wanted the police floundering, but without any suspects to shine the limelight on him, he’d never get the fame he craved. He had to do things carefully. Make sure he let the truth sneak up on them all slowly, really make a grand entrance. That meant another heist quickly, one with a few actual breadcrumbs left behind. And then a third heist even sooner after that to make a spectacle. 

Maybe he’d face The Flash, who thought he could protect this city. Or dethrone one of those mob bosses who thought they owned it. Or maybe…maybe he’d dethrone one of The Flash’s more public villains. 

Yes, that would do it. Captain Cold was due for another job any day now. 

In the meantime, he’d plan for something else himself, something a little grander this time, really let the CCPD feel the pang of failure as another impossible to solve case reared its head while they were still working on the first one. Something without evidence, but that would give them reason to start looking into him. 

Yes— _yes_. He knew just the place to rob next.

XXXXX

Barry let the tension of the day ease from his shoulders as his mind wandered, which for some people might be more difficult considering he was doing the dishes, but something so simple and mundane relaxed him, even at a normal pace. Iris had cooked, and while nine times out of ten that meant something spectacular for dinner, it also meant a lot of dirty dishes. 

That one time out of ten? They tried not to talk about. 

“Still thinking about the case?” Joe asked, at Barry’s side as he helped him dry. 

“Huh?” 

The words startled Barry. He’d actually been thinking about the way Snart’s mouth felt when he went down on him—which was awful during family dinner with his father right beside him, but he couldn’t get the thief out of his head. He cleared his throat as he shook those distracting thoughts from his mind. 

“Aren’t _you_ still thinking about it? I’ve never seen a case with so little to go on. I feel like Singh blames me for the whole thing too, like it’s my fault the perp didn’t leave any evidence. I had to dodge him at least five times today for fear of the death glare.”

Joe giggled easily and bumped Barry’s shoulder. “Hey, you do your job, that’s the best you can offer. You can’t _make_ the bad guys trip up.”

“Sometimes I can,” Barry reminded him.

“True, true. Maybe this one will get away from us. But it’s only been a couple days, Barr. We’ll find something.” 

“Hey, what’s taking you two so long?” Iris called as she entered the kitchen, smiling widely even as she chided them. 

“I thought we agreed I wasn’t allowed to flash through dishes with Wally around,” Barry said quietly. 

“Well if you’re going to be as slow as you used to be, maybe we’ll have to amend that. I’ll help Barry ‘finish up’,” she said, complete with air quotes, “Dad, you help Wally set up the game board.” 

Joe chuckled again before drying off his hands and complying. Iris came up beside Barry. 

“Why Trivial Pursuit exactly?” he asked her. “It’s like you want to end the night in a fist fight.” 

She playfully shoved him in the shoulder. “Well at least now that you’re The Flash, you can heal any bruises I give you in only a few hours.” She chuckled, and Barry couldn’t help laughing with her, which felt natural and easy for once. He hadn’t had a truly good day, from beginning to end, in so long. Even when he wasn’t letting his mind wander to thoughts of Snart, he could admit that he was enjoying himself with family dinner night.

He rolled up his sleeves a little higher as he prepared to finish the dishes his way. 

“I’m glad your plans changed, Barry,” Iris said. 

Barry cast her a resigned smile, but not sad, just…accepting of how she was always there to take care of him, even when he didn’t want to be helped. “Me too.” 

“Look, wait a sec,” she said, and grabbed his arm before he could use his powers. “You can speed through the dishes in a moment, okay?”

“Okay,” Barry turned to her, sensing something big coming, which he’d really been hoping wouldn’t happen tonight. He just wanted normal, and boring, and easy. “What’s up?” 

Iris glanced back at the door leading into the living room. “I know it hasn’t been very long with Wally around, in the grand scheme of our lives, but…he’s not going anywhere. He’s here to stay. School keeps him close for now, and he has no plans to move away from Central once he’s done.” 

“Sure. I get that. It’s not like I want him to go.” 

“No, Barry, I know that. That’s not what this is about. And I’m not saying now is the right time, I just…wanted to test the waters on what you think.” 

“On what I think about what?”

“On telling Wally that you’re The Flash.”

Barry’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open as the good feeling he had been trying so hard to keep with him all day, sucked right out of him. “What…?” 

“He’s family, Barry,” Iris said, grasping his hands with her own, “he’s bound to find out eventually. Wouldn’t it be better if we controlled that instead? If we found the right way and time to tell him?”

Barry tugged against her grip but was too stunned to pull hard enough. “Right…because the best way to welcome him to the family is to put his life in danger.”

“Barry,” Iris looked at him pleadingly, “he’d be in danger anyway, he just wouldn’t know why.” 

The blood drained from Barry’s face. He felt like he was going to throw up all over Iris’s pretty purple dress. 

She hadn’t meant her words as an accusation, of course she hadn’t, but that’s the only way Barry could interpret it. He’d thought it before, so many times, had it haunt him into his dreams, that the people he loved were always, and would always be in danger because of him. But no one had ever said it out loud. 

“So being part of my family, just knowing me, is enough to endanger someone’s life?” 

“Barry, I didn’t say—”

“You don’t have to.” Barry finally wrenched his hands away from her and took a step back. “It’s true. It’s been true since I was ten years old. It’s why Dad left when he got out of prison. Mom died because of me. Stayed dead because I decided not to save her. Of course he wouldn’t want to stick around.” 

“Barry…” 

“I needed Patty to leave. I _wanted_ her to leave. If I could send you and Joe away too, I would, to protect you from…” 

“From you?” Iris prompted softly when Barry trailed. 

He was shaking. He stared down at his hands and he could see the tremble in them that had nothing to do with his powers. He raised his fingers to touch the tears on his cheeks, as surprised to find them there as he’d been the other night after Camo. How was it possible to feel so differently from one moment to the next, simply because of a few words, a few thoughts, derailing everything that should have been good?

He should be stronger than this. He needed to be stronger than this. 

“Barry… _hey_.” 

He felt Iris’ arms encompass him before he noticed that she’d moved, trapping his arms against him with his hands lifted up toward his face. He let his hands drop to her shoulders, let her hold him as Cisco and Caitlin had held him, and he— _no_. He didn’t want to cry again. He didn’t want to be numb. He didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to be _sad_. He just wanted to be happy again. 

He knew that wasn’t something he could feel every moment of every day, but just one…just one day, why couldn’t he have _one day_? He just wanted to get back to where he’d felt wholly and truly good for a while, which had been…well…during and immediately after being with Snart. 

“Barry, are you—”

“I haven’t been myself lately,” Barry tried to explain, not wanting to tell her everything, not having the energy or the time—Joe and Wally were waiting for them, after all. “I’ve been a little out of my mind,” he laughed, and it sounded so broken that Iris squeezed him tighter. “Just everything weighing down on me, all the time. But I’m working through it. I have something that’s helping me work through it. I didn’t mean to react like that.” He never did, but the harsh, snap-reactions kept finding their way out of him. “You’re right about Wally, Iris. He should know. Someday. Not tonight, obviously, but…someday soon. After we’ve talked to Joe and the others about it.” 

“Okay, Barry. That sounds like a good idea. And I’m glad you’re trying to work through whatever’s been bothering you lately, but you know you can also always talk to me, right?” 

“I know. I know… that’s why I am. But I can’t exactly bare my soul to you right now when we’re supposed to be finishing the dishes and having a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit in the other room.”

Iris chuckled into his shoulder. She squeezed him once more for good measure, then pulled back. Her eyes looked wet too. “Fair enough. But then you have to promise me that someday, sooner than whenever you’re ready to tell Wally the truth, you’ll get coffee or dinner with your best friend and tell me what’s been going on. I miss you. And not just for family dinner. I miss _you_ —just you and me.” She reached a delicate thumb to brush the tears from beneath his eyes. “Whatever it is, I’m always here for you, Barry.”

Her words, her closeness, should have carried with them the comfort she was trying to convey, but Barry felt hollow again. Not because of how he honestly believed the people he cared about were at risk simply because they knew him, but because he’d failed to keep control, failed to let himself have a good night and just be happy. Because once again someone had to try to put him back together, because he didn’t know how to do it himself. 

He was such a disaster. 

“I’m okay, Iris,” he said anyway, wiping his eyes and taking a breath. He pulled away from her again, zipped through the dishes before she could respond, and headed for the kitchen door. “Come on. Help cheer me up by beating my ass at History and Sports & Leisure.” And Arts & Literature if he was being honest, but damn it if he wasn’t a force to be reckoned with when it came to the Entertainment and Science & Nature categories. 

Iris, never one to buy his false smiles, gave him the exasperated, pitying smile of hers that he most hated, because that’s when he knew he was being the burden that none of the people he loved would ever believe him to be. 

For Joe and Wally though, Iris played her part, smiled and joked and let Barry have his privacy—for now. If Joe sensed something was wrong, he didn’t show it. If Wally did, he…well, he always seemed to pass Barry these glances, that Barry couldn’t help interpreting as anything other than wondering why this outsider had to be there during _his_ family time. 

As Barry faced Wally’s strained smile, the one thought that comforted him was imagining the next time he’d get to see Snart. During a pause in the game to replenish drinks and snacks, Barry walked into the hallway and took out his phone. 

“One sec, guys, I just thought of something I need to tell Cisco.” 

He pulled up Snart’s number instead. _Hey. You free this weekend?_

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Arty is based on Michael Arden, Andy Mientus's fiance in real life. Hartley needed someone, and the tumblr crowd seemed very okay with me giving him an OMC. He at most will be in the story once or twice more, nothing big, but there, he exists. 
> 
> A few more pieces to the various plot arcs have been introduced. It's alot to all come together eventually, but I think I have pretty much everything sorted now, which is exciting and crazy, and yay, can't wait! This chapter particularly didn't have much Len and Barry interaction (well, none, other than them thinking of each other), but that will change next chapter again. 
> 
> More soon! Your comments give me LIFE! And I thank you kindly for them all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Snart meet up again to continue their affair, while Barry's life seems to spiral further and further out of his control even when some things go his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO...Michael is not Len's son in this. But I couldn't resist naming the kid Michael given how he'll influence a few points in the plot later. :-) Just so you know. Again, since it's technically an OC, it's no big role, but part of the connecting pieces. :-)

Len entered his apartment, one arm occupied with a grocery bag, and immediately knew something was amiss. The rug in front of the door was slightly askew. A quick glance up revealed that the chair by his desk on the other side of the apartment had been pulled out. 

He held his breath, listening for any telltale signs that the intruder was still there, but nothing betrayed itself. He turned on the light, heeled off his shoes, brought the grocery bag to the kitchen island as his eyes scanned the apartment for other tells, and then—stopped cold. 

A note rested on top of the island on a piece of paper from his desk, with a message in red ink. It read: **_In the fridge. Owed you for the Thai food. Save some for me though. Looking forward to tonight. –Scarlet._**

Len was simultaneously impressed and furious as hell. How…? He never forgot to lock his door. None of his windows opened. How had Barry gotten into his apartment? 

After checking the refrigerator to see that Barry had picked up some rather nice catering from a sandwich shop a few blocks over, with salad, and even several cookies, Len couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, which he tried to banish on principle alone. He put away his groceries, hung up his jacket, and stormed across the apartment to his computer. 

Nothing much appeared to be disturbed, other than the chair and the pad of paper Barry had used to write the note. Len was grateful that one of his first requests of Hartley when the kid started working for him involved security and surveillance for his apartment and all of his safe houses. He could access any of the cameras from his computer; one in particular faced the front door and kitchen. 

He pulled up the footage from the moment he’d left his apartment that morning and fast-forwarded until he saw Barry. Len blinked as he paused the video. It almost looked as though Barry had appeared out of nowhere. He rewound the footage, but as he watched it in reverse, he was certain Barry simply vanished. He played the video at normal speed and stared with a tingle of awe tickling down his spine.

Barry phased _through_ the door, bags of catering and all. He could move so fast that he…wow. 

Len watched the remainder of the footage, Barry in a T-shirt, skinny jeans, and red bomber jacket casually walking into his apartment. Len nodded approval as the kid took off his shoes before moving into the kitchen and arranging the food in the fridge—at least he was learning. Then Barry spun around. He hadn’t turned on the light, but there was enough ambient light from the slits of windows that Len could still see his smug, mischievous expression. Was Barry going to give away some nefarious plan to turn Len over to the police by _snooping_?

Barry walked out of frame, so Len brought up a different camera from the same time. Now the view faced Len’s desk. Barry pulled out the chair, sat, and reached for the computer. 

Len tensed as he sat up taller in his seat. But then Barry hesitated, seemed to think better of his actions, and grabbed the pad of paper instead. He found the red pen, wrote the note, and ripped off the piece of paper to take with him. He got up without looking at the computer again—or anything else—once.

Len switched back to the main camera and watched Barry set the note on the counter before giving the apartment a final once over, still grinning, and then phasing out the door.

Barry had had the chance to rifle through anything of Len’s that he wanted. He wouldn’t have found anything worthwhile, Len was too careful for that, unless Barry had found the secret room for the Cold gear, but still. Len was…stunned. Of course Barry had no secret plot. He was just keeping the banter going, being the playful, adorable kid that Len…well, that Len enjoyed a good tumble with, whether in the bedroom or with fists and wits flying. 

The realization warmed him. Barry played by the rules, beginning to end, although Len would have to have a talk with him about that phasing business. Len valued his privacy, his space, above all else, yet there he was, amused more than upset that Barry had crossed a boundary as easily as he’d crossed the threshold into Len’s apartment.

Len shook his head as he closed down the video footage. All the more reason he should end this sooner rather than later. The heist might not sour their encounters, but something would, eventually. Best to get ahead of it before he grew too attached, before Barry got any ideas about this being more than just sex between nemeses.

Len reminded himself of the groceries he’d picked up to make dinner. Practical, nothing more. Barry needed to eat a ridiculous amount, and the last thing Len wanted was a fainting spell interrupting their fun. But then…Barry had brought over dinner first.

 _Later_ , Len thought, leaving his computer desk and his troubled musings behind. After the heist he’d reassess. For now he was going to enjoy himself, with the full confidence that the only surprises in store for him would be what he chose to bring to the table himself.

XXXXX

Barry felt a much needed lightness infuse his limbs as he entered Snart’s apartment building. The week had ended strained and unfulfilling, with case work and Flash work alike, but none of that mattered now. For a few hours he could ignore everything that made him feel fractured and empty, because with Snart, all the power that eluded Barry in the rest of his life was his alone.

He had to applaud himself for earlier, for phasing into Snart’s apartment and leaving dinner. He'd wanted to look around so badly, especially up in the bedroom, which he honestly hadn’t gotten much of a look at during their last romp. Anything more personal or sensitive had to be up there. But Barry knew better than to give the game away, even at Flash speeds that for some people might have gone unnoticed. Snart would know. Snart would be watching. Clever criminal that he was, there was no doubt in Barry’s mind that Snart had his home under heavy surveillance. So Barry put on a good show to make sure the man had no reason to doubt his good intentions.

“Whoa! Careful, little guy,” Barry said as he was nearly plowed into by a young boy charging down the stairs from the second floor. He looked about ten, dark skin, closely cropped hair, and striking blue eyes. A pregnant woman who had to be his mother hurried down after him, looking frazzled. She had the same complexion but her eyes were dark brown.

“Sorry,” she smiled at Barry before hurrying on. “Michael, slow down!”

“No problem!” Barry called after them. He hadn’t seen anyone the last couple of times he’d been to Snart’s building. Considering some of the neighborhood, Saints and Sinners not too far away for starters, Barry had expected a rougher crowd for Snart’s neighbors, but then his apartment was actually really nice for such an old building in a bad part of town. Barry hoped the woman knew what she was doing living in a place like this, with no idea that a wanted criminal lived a few doors down from her. 

Barry fidgeted as he headed for Snart’s door. He had to will himself down from being hard already. He’d gotten off twice the previous night thinking about the man. How Snart sounded when he moaned. How tight he’d been. How willing he was to go along with Barry’s whims. Every step of the plan grew easier and easier for Barry as things progressed; he almost felt bad for Snart, not knowing that Barry was playing a very different game. 

Almost. 

Barry knocked and then glanced at his appearance. Snart liked him in red. And the tight jeans and T-shirt seemed to do things for the man as well. Barry didn’t want to go overboard and dress up too much. He had to be subtle if he was going to woo Snart into wanting him for more than just his vibrating fingers. This time they’d have dinner, and Barry would lay the groundwork for the rest of his plan. Which shouldn’t be difficult. As long as things always veered to sex eventually, Snart would be suitably distracted. 

Barry was distracted too, admittedly, because god did he want the man—that body, that smirk, those eyes—but once Barry got this out of his system, he knew he’d be able to move on to someone better. Maybe then he’d be ready for something real again. Maybe someday, the danger would be lessened enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about a girlfriend or boyfriend being bait for his enemies. 

As Snart opened the door, he mustered up the smile that had started to slip. The unimpressed raised eyebrow and the way Snart didn’t open the door completely to invite him in, told Barry that he wasn’t pleased by the earlier home invasion. Or maybe he was… There was a hint of that smirk again.

“I only left the food and the note.” Barry held up his hands. “No peeping. I had some time to kill this afternoon and thought you’d think it was…cute.”

“Cute,” Snart repeated with his slow lilt. “Breaking into my house is cute?”

“You broke into mine,” Barry grinned. 

He had Snart there, and the man’s amusement betrayed itself. He opened the door slightly further, but didn’t gesture Barry inside yet. 

“Plus you stole cocoa,” Barry pointed at him accusingly, “whereas I left something _for_ you. I think that should earn me some brownie points.”

“Points?”

“Yeah. How about we keep score as long as points can be traded for lewd acts in the bedroom?” Barry licked his bottom lip and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Snart’s paltry front dissolved in lieu of a grin. He stepped back and opened the door the rest of the way. “Believe me, Barry, the points are in my favor at the moment. You’re lucky you chose dinner from somewhere I like. But I plan to cash in all of my points…later.”

Barry glanced down Snart’s body appreciatively as the last traces of the tension he’d been carrying were forgotten. He slipped inside the apartment past Snart, feeling accomplished and ever the more confident each moment he sparred with the man for verbal dominance. Hate the guy or not, he did so enjoy their scuffles. No one made it fun the way Snart did. 

Snart was in jeans again too, and a thick intricately woven heather grey sweater. He really did look good in everything—and nothing. Seeing him in sock-clad feet was surprisingly alluring too. 

Barry toed off his shoes to appease the man’s rules, but was once again struck by the apartment and found himself staring, not only because of its general impressiveness, but because Snart had dinner ready and waiting for him. The sandwiches were laid out on platters, with a plate for each of them at the kitchen island—Snart didn’t have a dining table—as well as the salad tossed and in a nicer bowl, and the cookies spread over a plate of their own. There was also a bottle of wine, not yet opened. 

“Don’t flatter yourself too much,” Snart said, as he crossed behind Barry into the kitchen and brought out two wine glasses, “but you’re the one who insisted on buying dinner. Wouldn’t want your stamina to wear out later. The wine’s for me, but you’re welcome to a glass.”

“Please.” Barry smiled as he took up the stool he’d sat in before. Things were progressing even better than he could have hoped. He waited for a nod from Snart before starting to fill his plate. “Buy me something expensive next time and we’ll really have this affair in full swing. Wait…forget I said that. You’ll just steal something.”

Snart chuckled, taking the stool next to Barry. He passed over a nearly full glass of wine. “I do have money, Barry.”

“Money that comes from criminal activity, so it’s basically the same as stealing.” Barry never lost his smile as he took a drink to try the wine. Heady and delicious—just like Snart.

“Yet that didn’t stop you from eating my Thai food.”

“That was an emergency.”

“Uh huh.” 

“Fine. But I think the foundation of this arrangement is agreeing to disagree.” Barry took a large bite of his salad.

“About buying you something pretty, Barry? Because I could get on board with that.” 

“I said expensive, not pretty,” Barry said with a half-hearted scowl.

Snart shrugged, “Why not both?” then trailed his eyes down Barry’s long, lanky frame. “Of course I can imagine several things from my own closet draped over that body and then we could avoid any…moral conundrum.”

Barry shivered at the direction this conversation was going. “Such as…?”

Snart took a drawn out bite of his own salad, pulling the fork from his lips and teeth slowly. “How about...one of my best dress shirts. And nothing else?”

Shit, Barry was hard again. How did the man do that with just his _voice_? 

“Though I have stolen some lovely jewelry over the years. Lisa kept most of what we didn’t fence, but a few pieces spoke to me.”

“Around here?” Barry turned his head to look at the apartment.

“Now, now, do you think I’d be so foolish as to have anything traceable in my home?”

“Maybe not traceable, but that doesn’t mean not stolen.” Barry licked his fork enticingly. 

He was on the end of the island, with Snart perpendicular to him at his right. Even the way the man sat with one foot dangling to the floor, the other propped on the rung of the stool, was poised and purposeful and picturesque. Before becoming The Flash, Barry never would have believed a man like Snart would ever show interest in him. Holding such easy sway over someone who oozed sex appeal made Barry feel more powerful than even the lightning could offer. 

“Anything else?” Barry asked.

Snart eyed him approvingly, like he was envisioning so many naughty scenarios. “Mmm…” he hummed low and sultry, giving Barry goose bumps beneath his jacket. Blue eyes scanned Barry leisurely then flicked to his face to capture his gaze. “But if we get too distracted, we’ll never finish dinner.”

Barry laughed. He had to concede on that. So they ate. Drank wine. And cast each other frequent, furtive glances, as they talked. 

“Tell me, Scarlet, any new villains tripping you up?”

Barry was on his second sandwich by now. He paused before taking another bite. “Worried about competition?”

“Maybe.” Snart inclined his head. “Heard more about that Mercury Labs case of yours. The one that interrupted our first night. It pays for me to keep tabs on other criminal elements in my city.”

“Looking for pointers?”

“Believe me,” Snart said with a slight chuckle, “if the police knew anything useful, I’d know by now too. But it seems this mystery thief even surpasses me for making a clean getaway. Any insider knowledge you’d like to share that hasn’t been made public to your superiors yet?”

Barry shot him a disbelieving stare. He should never discuss an ongoing case with someone outside the precinct or his small circle within Team Flash, especially when that someone was a wanted criminal. But then maybe it was safer to keep on Snart’s good side as long as he didn’t give away anything that _Captain Cold_ could use someday. 

“First of all, I’m not admitting that I’d tell you anything if I did know something…but no. Whoever it is might actually get away with this. Either they have amazing tech or an unknown meta power, but I have no clues as to which it is or what or…anything.” Barry took an aggressive bite of his sandwich. He hated when answers eluded him, especially when such a high profile case had Singh breathing down his neck. “It’s simpler when the bad guys make a big show of things so I know who they are.”

“Such flattery,” Snart smiled, as he watched Barry while taking a long drink of his wine, finishing the glass. He reached to pour himself another. 

“What about you?” Barry asked, nudging his own empty glass forward. 

“What? Trade secrets?” 

“No, I mean…well, I’d certainly take any if you’re offering. But I _meant_ …you know a lot about me. Most of what I know is from your case files.”

“Which no longer exist.”

“Not the old ones, no,” Barry rolled his eyes at the reminder. “More recent ones, though…”

“Are you asking how my day was, Barry?”

The inherent tease in the words would have almost been infuriating, but in some ways that’s exactly what Barry was angling for. Anything he could use against Snart would be an asset. Ways to better get under the man’s skin, cater to what he wanted, what he liked. All while still playing their familiar game. 

“How about one thing?” Barry said. “Tell me one thing about _Lenny_ Snart that I couldn’t read in a case file. Like…this apartment,” he turned outward on his stool, “your artwork,” he gestured at the photograph on the wall that had so intrigued him that first night, then raised his refilled wine glass before taking another sip, “why you have such good taste in wine.”

“Or whether or not I’ve seduced any other young superpowered gentleman out of their pants?” Snart smirked.

Barry smiled around the rim of his glass. Sometimes, if he was in the right frame of mind, he could almost feel the effects of the alcohol that wasn’t technically working on him. “Whose pants came off first?” 

“Yours,” Snart answered plainly. 

Barry was about to protest that when he recalled that the first time someone lost their pants in this apartment it had indeed been him. “True…”

“How about something basic, Barry,” Snart said, pushing the plate of cookies Barry’s way and snagging one for himself. “ _Lenny_? Is reserved for Lisa. _Leonard_ , I almost take as an insult. Never had much deference for my old man’s decisions where I’m concerned.” 

“Fair,” Barry nodded—and also good to know. “So you prefer Snart? Or Cold?” 

“Len,” Snart said with a momentary drop in his guiled expression. 

_Len_. Of course, the way Snart had entered it into Barry’s phone. Barry had always gotten the impression that Snart using his first name was meant to distance them, because it was a jab, something Snart held over him, while ‘Scarlet’ as a pet name held some endearment. But asking Barry to call him _Len_ —that held intimacy, and Barry wasn’t sure if Snart even realized what he’d offered. 

“Len it is,” Barry said, and snatched up a cookie. “So if we’re on a roll, Len, how about another question?”

“I’m listening.” 

“Where do you keep the cold gun?” Barry grinned. “Got it locked away in some safe house, set to explode and take an entire city block with it if you don’t check in every twenty-four hours?”

Snart glanced away with that half amused, half chiding chuckle of his. “So dramatic, Barry. Besides, who says it’s ever far away from me?” 

Also good to know, though Barry didn’t think the gun was currently stashed in one of the kitchen drawers. He’d learn its location eventually. 

They finished their meal, and Snart got up to clear everything away, while they divided the remainder of the wine between them. 

“Hey, we have better things to get to then dishes,” Barry said when Snart started to rinse everything and fill up his dishwasher. “Step back a sec.”

After a brief hesitation, Snart obeyed, and Barry had everything in the dishwasher, the counter cleaned, though he left the plate of remaining cookies out, and stood before Snart with his wine glass outstretched to offer back to him. 

Snart grinned with that thrilled and awed expression that Barry honestly never got tired of seeing on people’s face regarding his powers. Even if, with Snart, he knew there was always something being calculated for later use. 

“Keep spoiling me, kid, and I’ll never let you out of this apartment. You’d make such a lovely kept boy.” Snart took the wine glass, and this time when he trailed his gaze down Barry’s body, he bit his lip as he got to the bulge in Barry’s jeans. 

Barry felt himself harden instantly at the attention. They were tight jeans, so it didn’t take much to show Snart that he was very interested in moving things out of the kitchen. Barry stepped closer into Snart’s body, and kept his voice soft. “Yeah? Have me walk around in a speedo all day, or…just an apron maybe?”

“Apron…” Snart repeated. “Hmm…”

Barry giggled as he leaned closer, forcing Snart’s gaze to meet his. “Filed away in your list of things to drape me in…Len?”

Snart shuddered. There was nothing more satisfying than causing that reaction in him. “Definitely,” Snart said, and closed the gap between them. 

They kissed. It was immediately apparent that the wine glasses were in the way. Barry pulled back to take them both and set them on the counter, then returned full force, freed hand reaching to grip the curve of Snart’s jaw and pull him closer. He tasted of the wine, spicy and strong. 

Barry gripped Snart’s hip with his other hand and started to pivot them, backing Snart up until he felt resistance as they reached the island. The taste of wine, the smoothness of Snart’s tongue—Barry honestly felt like he was buzzed, finally able to forget everything in his life that was a mess. This, at least, was a premeditated mess. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Barry huffed against Snart’s lips, thumb tracing the man’s faint stubble, the fingers at Snart’s hip slipping up beneath his sweater. 

“Yeah…?” Snart breathed back, with barely any space between them. “Tell me.”

“The way you felt…how good you felt when I was inside you. How good it’s gonna be when you’re inside of _me_.”

This time, Barry felt the tremble work its way through Snart’s body. “Anything else?” 

“Your mouth.” Barry kissed it briefly, then pulled at Snart’s bottom lip with a gentle bite. “God, your mouth. Anywhere. _Everywhere_. The feel of it on my cock. And my mouth on you…” As Barry spoke, he let his hands travel to Snart’s jeans and started to undo them, opening them up right there in the kitchen. They could move to the sofa or bedroom later.

Snart looked pleasantly flushed as Barry dropped to his knees. 

“Killer Queen” erupted from Snart’s jean pocket. He dropped his head back with a frustrated groan. Barry didn’t try to hide his frustration either, because that was so obviously Lisa’s ring tone. 

“Is there like some sort of cockblock tracker attached to both of us?” Barry lamented as he let his hands drop, but stayed there on his knees. 

Snart laughed as he pulled the phone from his back pocket. “For the record, she chose this ringtone for herself.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

“I’ll keep it brief.” 

“I sure hope it’s the only thing you’re planning to keep brief.” 

Snart smirked wider as he answered the call. “Not a good time, Lise.” But his smile dropped as he listened to whatever she had to say. He held up a finger and moved out of the kitchen to talk with her in private across the room. 

Damn it. That meant it was important. Barry got up from the floor, watched Snart wander toward the slit windows behind his desk, his words hushed and sharp. This called for more wine, even if it barely did anything for Barry. He grabbed both of their glasses and set them on the island, where he leaned his elbows next to the cookies and ate another one before polishing off more of his wine.

The disruption had a sting of anger swirling through him, making his grip on the glass a little too tight. Barry needed this. He needed something he could lose himself in without interruption or complication. Snart was the one thing in his life making any sense right now. Why did something have to keep breaking into their time together, or pulling Barry down from his high? 

He noticed Snart turn back to him, though he was still on the phone. He raised his voice for Barry to hear as he shrugged helplessly and said, “I’ll meet you in half an hour. On the nose, I swear. Am I ever late?” then turned toward the windows again, muffling his words. 

Half an hour? That wasn’t enough time. Barry spent at least eight hours at the precinct most days, countless hours patrolling or dealing with meta humans, not to mention the time he’d lost lately trying to balance family and friends and _sanity_. 

It was as if the universe didn’t want him to have even a moment to himself. One day. Just one day, one single day, enjoyable from start to finish, without anything to upset the delicate tightrope walk between happiness and losing his _god damn_ —

“Barry!” 

It was Snart’s voice that brought Barry back, not the wetness of the spilled wine on his hand, or the pain of the glass embedded in his skin. “Oh shit, shit.” Barry stood up straight as he stared at his bleeding palm and the mess all over the counter. “I am so sorry, I just…” Had he really squeezed the glass so tightly, or had he started to vibrate and sonically shattered it?

“Here, give me that.” Snart was suddenly there beside him, the phone gone, presumably back in his pocket. When had he hung up? Barry couldn’t remember hearing anything. Snart pulled him over to the kitchen sink, and Barry followed along in a daze.

“My mind wandered and I…I…” He couldn’t gather his thoughts. How could he explain? He was so angry at Lisa for calling and stealing Len away from him that he shattered a glass? That sounded crazy. Too intense. Too…frightening. 

“Relax, Barry, it’s just a glass,” Snart said. He turned on the faucet, and let cool water run over Barry’s palm as he carefully picked out the larger pieces of glass and either set them on the counter, or let the barely visible ones run down the drain. It stung, and Barry hissed at the sharp pain he hadn’t felt at first, but Snart’s touch was…gentle. Practiced. One hand on his wrist to hold him steady while the other set to vigilant work. 

There was still a mess of glass left on the island, too near the cookies, which meant those would have to be thrown. What had Barry been thinking? His thoughts felt as fractured as the shards in his skin. He needed to salvage this, needed to…think. 

“Isn’t that interesting?” Snart said as he brushed his thumb over Barry’s palm. All of the cuts were superficial, nothing too deep that for a normal person might have needed stitches, so for Barry, the damage was already healing. 

Barry focused on that, clung to it, and summoned a smile. “How do you think I can handle your cold gun so well?”

Snart nodded but didn’t say anything more. He stood very close to Barry, elegant fingers continuing to smooth along Barry’s wrist and palm, as the water ran over their connected skin. For the most part, Snart’s blue eyes watched the healing cuts in fascination, but his gaze was soft and heated at the same time whenever he looked up. 

“Your pulse is high,” he said, as he thumbed Barry’s wrist. 

“It’s always like that.” 

“I meant high for _you_.” Snart smiled but seemed curious. “That must have been some violent daydream.” 

“ _No_ ,” Barry said too quickly. “I mean…sorry. It was just…” He trailed again, which he had to stop doing, he had to organize his thoughts, or else Snart would know that he was broken, and all of this would be ruined. But he couldn’t lie. Barry decided that maybe it was okay to be a little vulnerable to accomplish his goals. Not that he expected Snart to really _care_ , but he couldn’t stop the words from leaving him. “It’s been tough. Lately. Stressful, you know.”

“I figured. You’re here with me. Had to be some sort of crisis in your life.” Snart smirked, never ceasing the gentle swirls of his thumbs over Barry’s skin. “You take on the responsibility of protecting an entire city, Barry. It’s understandable.”

Everyone kept saying that—that it was understandable why he’d be upset lately, and stressed, and angry. But that just made it worse. Like it was normal, when the last thing he felt was normal. “Yeah,” Barry huffed, “and you’re so helpful with that.” 

Snart snickered. “Admit it, life would be boring if all of the criminals you faced were like, say…Mardon?”

“Urg. Boring is not the word that comes to mind with him. But I do prefer you.” Barry said it too quickly to deny that it was the truth. He looked into Snart’s eyes just as the other man turned off the water and grabbed a nearby towel to dry their hands. All of Barry’s cuts were healed.

The contact was…nice. And charged differently somehow. Little by little, Barry’s pulse slowed to its usual humming bird titter. 

With the towel still bunched in their hands, Barry and Snart leaned forward at the same time. They kissed again. Softer this time. Slower. 

“Some of our promises will need to wait until next time,” Snart spoke softly between them. “I don’t want a time limit when I take you apart, Barry. And I will return that favor soon. Apologies for Lisa, it’s…not something I can reschedule. But half an hour is still plenty of time for a little fun.” He grinned.

“Yeah…” Barry said, telling himself to just be patient, to enjoy what he had, and what he still had time to collect. If he wanted to draw things out and make Snart yearn for him, then these interruptions actually played in his favor. He just wished he didn’t want the escape the man offered him as badly as he did—that he didn’t need it, didn’t feel like he’d lose his mind without it. 

Time. He just needed time, and it would get easier. He didn’t need _Snart_. It was just that he hadn’t had such good sex in so long, maybe ever. 

“Let me…” Barry pulled his hands from Snart’s beneath the towel, and gestured at the glass on the counter. 

“Don’t worry about it, I can—”

But Barry was faster than Snart’s words. In moments he’d cleaned the remaining glass, deposited all of it in the trash safely, wiped the counter, reluctantly tossed the cookies in the trash as well, and had the cookie plate in the dishwasher, leaving the kitchen flawless. 

He held up his hands as Snart blinked at him in amazement. “I was careful. No more glass, I promise.”

Snart tossed the towel next to the sink and crossed his arms in thought. “Might need to make a game of it, Barry, just to be safe. Make sure you use your _mouth_ only.”

 _That’s better_ , Barry thought as he stalked closer to Snart. “Sounds fun. Then same for you? There’s time for both of us to have our turn.”

“Oh yes.”

“Come here.” Barry reached for Snart’s sweater and twisted his fingers in the fabric, tugging as he started to back up. “Let’s debauch your sofa again.” 

XXXXX

Barry clutched his phone in his hands to keep from throwing it—a recurring feeling he had every time he got a new text from Snart lately. It had only been a few days since they were last together, and blowjobs on Snart’s couch had been nice, hot, _awesome_ —but not enough. 

_Can’t tonight. Tomorrow?_

_I have patrol. Can’t miss it again. Not after this second heist from our mystery thief._

_Long lunch break?_

Barry huffed a laugh as he swiftly responded, _You obviously don’t know what it’s like in a police station._

_Actually…_

Somehow, Snart still managed to make Barry smile, but the promises the man made about what he’d do to Barry the next time they were together kept him up at night. Touching himself wasn’t enough. Stretching himself before bed, imagining that his fingers were Snart’s instead, only made him long that much more for the real thing. 

_I’ll find a time. Keep me posted if anything changes for you._

_Eager, Scarlet?_

_Singh’s been riding my ass all week. Would prefer it was you instead._

_Oh I will. Keep thinking about me. Maybe I’ll call later and ask what you’re wearing._

Urg. Barry nearly did throw his phone that time, because Snart’s teases only made it worse. He sent back a middle finger emoji, and Snart responded with a smiley face. Dick. 

Barry set his phone aside and got back to work. The Invisible Man, as Cisco had taken to calling the new thief in Central—at least until they had something more to go on for a ‘proper’ name—had struck again, leaving just as much lacking evidence. They had only two things to go on. 

The location of the heist: a glass and mirror shop, small, but with enough expensive merchandise that their safe held a great deal of cash during the day. Which was part of the mystery; the heist had taken place before the manager brought the money to the bank, during shop hours. It had to be an inside job. 

But then came the second clue, something the thief had purposely planted: a Mercury Labs business card inside the empty safe; generic, no one’s name on it, but enough to act as a calling card that yes, this was the same thief as from the previous week. 

Singh had insisted that all of the Mercury Labs employees be vetted a second time, while Joe also looked into Central City Glassworks’ list of current and former employees. While Barry was swamped with other backed up work, he took up Caitlin and Cisco’s offer for help, especially since it seemed likely that whoever was behind all of this was a meta human, or at least a formidable enough villain for The Flash. 

Barry didn’t know if he should be angry or relieved that at the end of his shift, when he thought he might have a couple hours to spare to see if Snart could rearrange his schedule, he got a text from Cisco saying that he and Caitlin had a lead for him, and that Joe was already on his way to STAR Labs. Barry would just have to grab dinner on the road. 

He stared at his phone in longing, before taking a quick peek out in the hallway to make sure no one was about to enter his lab, and took off at Flash speeds. 

“Whoa, Barr,” Joe held up his hands as Barry skidded to an unsteady halt in the cortex, flustered from having eaten quickly along the way, and not having taken a break since a fifteen minute lunch break at 1pm. “Better work on those landings. I’m thinkin’ I wouldn’t be too happy if you actually plowed into me one of these days.”

Barry offered a shaky laugh as he rustled his fingers through his hair, and dropped his messenger bag on a desk. “Sorry. Feeling kind of…rushed today. What’s up?”

Caitlin stood looking over Cisco’s shoulder at a computer screen, but before Barry and Joe could join them, they projected what they were looking at on the monitor on the wall. Barry turned and crossed his arms as he regarded the mug shot. 

There was nothing particularly defining about the man. Mid-30s, brown hair, brown eyes, no real prominent features; neither unattractive nor good looking. He seemed the epitome of the everyman. 

“Sam Scudder,” Barry read from the photo. “What do we know about him?”

“Joe got us the former employee list from Central City Glassworks, which almost made it too easy,” Cisco said. “He’s the only former employee with a record. He was fired from the glassworks last year. _And_ —and this is the real kicker—he disappeared from Central City the day after the Particle Accelerator exploded.”

 _Of course he did_. “So we’re definitely dealing with a meta human,” Barry nodded. Somehow that made him feel marginally better about the situation. Superpowers were hard to predict; better than someone just outsmarting them. 

“But how’s he breaking into these places?” Joe asked. “What’s his power? Walk through walls? Turn invisible?”

“That would make naming him easier,” Cisco shrugged, since he was rather fond of ‘The Invisible Man’. 

“But it wouldn’t explain the amount of loot being taken,” Barry had to burst his bubble. “Even if he could make the loot invisible too, how did he do it all so quickly?”

“Ability to…shrink things and…?” Cisco tried but tapered off. 

Caitlin interjected, “Unfortunately we don’t know where he was the night of the explosion to give us any clues about his abilities.” 

“So we’re still at square one.” Barry dropped his arms to his sides. 

“Hardly,” Joe said, slapping him on the back. “We got a name, Barr. A face. Someone had to have seen the guy, even if his last known address is over a year old. It’s something. We’ll put out an APB, and see what comes up.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Barry wanted to be pleased, but he also wanted a target. Not just a name, but a location to track the guy down and…

Barry rolled his shoulders to keep that jolt of anger from climbing. He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t _want_ to hurt him. If he had to throw the guy around a bit to bring him in, fine, but Barry had to be better than that. He had to be better than people like…Snart. 

Joe’s hand coming down on Barry’s shoulder startled him. “You beat yourself up, Barr, but you’re playing detective as well as forensics most the time. Not to mention full-time superhero. Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll get ‘im.”

“I know,” Barry pulled on a smile. “It just would have been a nice way to start the night’s patrol if I could track this guy down.”

“Night’s still young. Maybe the APB will get a hit.”

Barry highly doubted luck was in his favor enough for that to happen. 

Joe headed out to return to the precinct to get things rolling on the APB, turn in a few reports, and head home, while Barry zipped into his costume and prepared for a long night. 

Caitlin came over to him as he was about to pull up his mask. “Barry, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Uh sure.”

She gestured him out of the cortex to indicate this was a private conversation. Great. But Barry obeyed. 

Caitlin brought him out into the hallway then turned back to him with a serious and…pitying expression. “I just wanted you to know that I’ve been researching into possible ways to use medication on you. Not just because of how you’ve been feeling lately, but for pain too. Might even solve your problem with alcohol,” she added with a faint smile.

The topic wasn’t one Barry wanted to discuss right now, but he twitched a grin at the mention of being able to drink again. 

“At the very least, we’ll figure something out to keep your metabolism from burning through things that are supposed to do your body good. The truth is, Barry,” she said softer, causing Barry to sharpen his gaze on her concerned face, “your serotonin levels have been low. Much lower than I’d like. It’s a perpetuating cycle. You’re depressed because bad things happened, so your serotonin levels are lower, and because they’re low, you feel more depressed, which makes you act out and pull away from activities and people that might provide a boost, a rush of endorphins.” 

Barry held up a hand. “I know how all that works. And I’ve been trying to find some time for more… _endorphin_ friendly activities, but I’ve been busy.” 

Caitlin reached for his arm to squeeze gently. “There’s always time for your own wellbeing, Barry.” She squeezed once more before letting go, but there was something troubled in her expression, something she wasn’t sharing.

“What is it? Is something else off with my vitals, or—” 

“No, Barry,” she shook her head, “I don’t mean to make you worry, I just…I wanted…” She took a calming breath that reminded Barry far too much of himself lately. Her warm brown eyes were too honest when they looked up again. “I wanted to apologize.”

Barry blinked at her. “Apologize for what?”

“If I played any role in how you’ve been feeling. I know there are many moving pieces. Wells. Eddie. _Ronnie_. The singularity and the damage it caused. Seeing your mother again. But then, after all of that, when you needed me most, I…”

“You left,” Barry said what she couldn’t. But he wasn’t upset about that, how could he be? “You left because of Ronnie. I get that. You needed to get away. You weren’t thinking about me, and you shouldn’t have been. You were thinking about you, and how I’m the reason…” Barry stopped himself from saying it even though it’s all he ever thought about when he remembered Ronnie. And Eddie. And his mother. “Sometimes it’s easier to leave…” _me_ , he finished in his mind but knew better than to say it out loud. 

“But, Barry,” Caitlin said, “I was doing what we’ve been telling you not to do. Distancing myself from the things and people I love.” 

_Yeah_ , Barry thought, _because I killed your husband_. 

“It’s fine,” Barry said as he took a step back from her. “It’s not about you. You don’t need to apologize. You really don’t. But if you figure something out with meds, that would be…great, maybe it’ll help.” He didn’t know if it would, even if she could find a way past his metabolism, but the idea of being able to just flip a switch and be happy again was a comforting thought. He knew it didn’t work that way, but he wanted it to. He wanted everything to be easier. 

But how could it be when some things would never change? It would always be his fault that his mother died. It would always be his fault that he gave in to what Eobard wanted. It would always be his fault that Eddie and Ronnie were gone, and that Caitlin and Iris both looked at him with sadness, even if they tried so hard not to blame him. Barry knew where the blame belonged. 

“Barry, hang on a minute…” Caitlin tried, but from inside the cortex, Barry heard his phone go off. He leapt at the chance to answer it. 

“Just a sec, Caitlin, that might be important.” He zipped to his pile of clothes on a corner table in the cortex and answered the call without looking at the ID. “Hello?”

“Hey there, slugger.”

Barry’s stomach bottomed out. “Dad…” He glanced around at Cisco, then at Caitlin as she came in from the hallway. He offered an apologetic shrug and zipped to the pipeline for privacy. “Hey. What’s up?”

Only it was nothing important, just his dad calling to catch up, to check in— _because he missed him_. Barry almost shot back a bitter laugh, but worse, before his dad could delve into everything he’d been up to, or ask how Barry was doing, scathing words found their way out of him instead. 

“Can you stop lying to me, Dad?”

“Lying? Barry, what are you talking about?” 

Barry stared at the circular door leading into the Pipeline, at the cells beyond, where Eobard would have stayed and _rotted_ if only Barry hadn’t been a fool. “Before I became The Flash, Mom’s death was just this awful thing that happened to us, and you had to take the blame. But we know the truth now. You don’t miss me. If you missed me, you’d be here.” 

“Barry—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t blame me now that you know the only reason she died was because Thawne wanted to hurt _me_.”

“Barry, I would never—” 

“But you do!” Barry yelled. “I do. Everyone does, they just don’t want to say it. If you didn’t blame me, you would have stayed.” Barry’s cheeks felt numb to the tears sliding down them. “And it’s okay, Dad, I get it. I don’t like looking at me either.”

He hurled his phone away from him, finally giving into the temptation of the past several weeks. It struck the Pipeline door and clattered to the ground. If it hadn’t been for the phone case Cisco made for him, his outburst likely would have shattered the screen, but it still did the job of hanging up the call. 

Barry panted as he stood there, and wiped at the dampness in his eyes. Guilt and anger and sadness and so much _nothing_ boiled inside of him like some churning, dangerous storm. It felt as if he’d had his chance…and lost it. If he could have caught The Invisible Man, or seen Snart, or done something _good_ for once instead of just being a burden on everyone, he wouldn’t be here now, feeling like he was falling apart all over again. 

He couldn’t even call Snart. The only thing he could do was hope that some mugger out there had chosen the wrong night to do bad.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway. The click of heels. Caitlin. Barry would get his phone later when he hung up his suit for the night. Right now, he just wanted to run. 

He pulled up his cowl, told Cisco over the comms that he was hitting the streets, and flashed out of the labs with a spark of lightning. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, next chapter you will get to find out what Lisa called Len about. Again, Michael is not Len's, he's someone else's (not Sam's either). Though He does remind Len of himself, especially as a ten year old with a baby sibling on the way. :-)
> 
> It's less than two weeks out from the heist now.
> 
> Thank you again so much for all of your comments. Each one makes me want to write that much faster as we get further and further into the...well, train wreck ahead. ;-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting complicated in Len's neighborhood, and an unexpected visit from Barry only makes things worse. Or maybe better. Len's still debating that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, this fic just writes itself sometimes, and who am I to stop it. You are all amazing and your comments truly, truly make it impossible to stop writing. I just move right on to the next chapter every time, and have everything planned out nearly perfectly now. So much more to come...

Sam stared at his reflection in the mirror—well, in one of the many mirrors around him. His hideout, his Mirror Maze, was made of reflective surfaces at every turn. But this was his favorite, the mirror at the very center of it all that he used most often when traveling to Central City. It connected to one of those curved dome mirrors that helped people see around corners, but it was dirty now, abandoned, placed around the side of a building that no longer had any people trying to sneak about, which made it the perfect location to enter undetected. 

Oh, Sam could enter almost anywhere without someone catching him, but he liked being outside, on the street, appearing from seemingly nowhere to walk his city with no one the wiser, like a magic trick, where everyone was the fool, and no one knew his secrets. 

He needed a costume. The Flash had a costume. Even Captain Cold had a costume. Hmm…Sam needed a name too. It was no wonder that someone named _Snart_ would choose a moniker. Scudder didn’t do Sam any justice either. He’d have to think on that.

For now, he wore a simple, flexible suit in dull grey, complete with cowl and mask. The CCPD might suspect him, would laud him as the criminal mastermind, while at the same time never having any true proof. But once he had a new name, that would be the title that screamed across the headlines. 

Maybe something in…green.

The APB circulating over the wire was like a comforting melody. Each piece falling so perfectly into place. He’d even gotten to stick it to the glassworks for firing him. All because they’d discovered he lied on his resume about having a record. And…possibly because of how he stole several thousand dollars’ worth of mirrors for his experiments. 

But they just didn’t understand. Sam always knew, _always_ knew that there had to be a way inside of a reflection. He’d finally found it. And now he had the one power that allowed him to use his knowledge safely. 

He’d done big with his first heist. He’d done bold with the second. He’d done the impossible with both. Now he needed to have everyone’s attention on him, and the only way to do that would be to hit a third location right from under the most famous thief in the city. 

Sam had heard from several sources that Snart was planning something, something soon—very soon. Even those who would readily snitch on anyone for the right price didn’t have much information though. That a heist was imminent, sure, but no one knew anything about where or when. Only Snart’s crew knew that, and Mick Rory, Snart’s own sister, and some genius nobody that had only ever made real headlines once—none of them would talk. 

So Sam needed to go where he could overhear them without them knowing they were being eavesdropped on. And everyone knew Snart’s favorite hangouts, especially now that he owned an entire city neighborhood of several prominent blocks of real estate. 

It was time to pay a visit to the mirrors in Saints and Sinners. 

XXXXX

“You’re so big!” Lisa exclaimed as she pressed both hands to Carla's swollen belly. Their favorite day-waitress at Saints and Sinners only had a couple months left before she popped.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” Carla laughed, one hand occupied with a pot of coffee she'd been interrupted from offering to Len when Lisa squealed at the sight of her.

“Oh please, you’re pregnant,” Lisa said dismissively. “And gorgeous.” Her eyes widened as a fresh smile brightened her face at presumably feeling something beneath her palms. “Baby Mai's rambunctious today.”

“She’s rambunctious every day.”

“Mai?” Len questioned Lisa’s apparent insider knowledge.

“Carla’s been throwing around M names as far from Irish sounding as possible. Mai’s my favorite so far,” Lisa said as she sat back.

Carla finished filling Len’s coffee. “Wouldn’t change Michael’s name for nothing, but this little girl’s gonna get a fresh start.” She patted her belly with her free hand.

Len suppressed offering too much of a smile. He and Lisa ordered lunch, and Lisa inquired after Shawna Baez.

“Still practically acing every exam,” Carla said. “That girl’s gonna have her RN license before you know it.”

“And you, Carla?” Len asked.

She patted her belly again. “Had to switch to finishing some generals online for a bit, but I’m on my way. I’ll go put that order in.”

Len watched her walk away with faint fondness that he quickly covered up when Lisa grinned at him. Shawna had introduced them to her nursing school friend when the trouble started—or at least when Shawna learned how bad things were. She had asked Len and Lisa to escort Carla and Michael to the abuse shelter, because her ex, Sean Dunkirk, was on the rampage. Barely thirty seconds of the story and who it involved was enough to win Len over on the benefits of lending a hand. 

Things had been tense ever since he broke Dunkirk’s nose when the man tried to break into the shelter that night. Though few people knew the real reason the Irish had been sniffing around the neighborhood lately. 

Shawna would be an asset should they ever need her services—medical more than meta; being able to break into buildings with a mere thought would spoil the fun, and Shawna only wanted to do that if she had to. Len didn’t have a habit of forcing his crew into anything, even if they owed him. Peek-A-Boo was more of a strategic acquaintance.

And Lisa could use more friends.

Len turned serious while they had a moment alone. “Does she know?”

“That Sean was in the neighborhood again the other night? No. Why worry her? She’s not supposed to get overly stressed. It’s bad for the baby.”

Len smirked at her. “Look who’s the expert all of a sudden.”

Lisa kicked him lightly beneath the table. “Stress isn’t good for anyone, Lenny. That’s just common sense. And Sean’s being bold. _Stupid_. At first he had other goons with him, but lately it’s just been him. Word is, his father wants him to wash his hands of Carla and back off, so as not to piss off you. But if you take the idiot out sometime in the near future, we’ll have a war on our hands no matter who shoots first.”

“I’m aware.” Len took a sip of his coffee. Usually at Saints, it was sludge, but Carla had a knack for making do with what she had. “I’ll take care of it. Sean was lucky he was gone by the time you found out he’d been around. Luckier still he didn’t run into me.”

“Lenny…”

“Relax. My only plan is to put a little fear in him should our paths cross. This lack of respect is becoming grating.” He paused and met eyes with his sister. “Let’s send something nice to his old man for staying out of it.” 

Lisa nodded. She knew how to handle that side of the business. Len tended to get—at least in Lisa’s words— _dramatic_. 

“You'd think he'd be more protective of his grandchildren,” Len mused.

“He is,” Lisa said in more somber tones. “That’s why he wants Sean to stay away. But he still can’t bring himself to act against his son.”

Len clutched his coffee cup tighter. It was all too reminiscent, which Lisa never failed to point out to him. But their grandfather had been better, done more to get them away from Lewis; he’d simply died before he could succeed. 

Still though. Young son. Baby girl on the way. Abusive father worth little more than the dirt beneath Len’s shoes… It was a familiar story.

“We’ll just have to clean up the trash for him,” Len said.

Lisa grinned. “So chivalrous, Lenny.”

“This isn’t about protecting Carla,” Len spoke up, likely too quickly on the defensive judging by how the corner of Lisa’s mouth quirked. “This is about protecting our investments into our territory. And keeping the Dunkirks from thinking they have any right to my streets.” 

Lisa tapped her fingernails on her own coffee cup. “Funny how quickly ‘our’ turns into ‘my’.”

Len rolled his eyes. It was a figure of speech, but Lisa and Mick always had to correct him if he dared call Central City or any of its streets _his_. 

“Even funnier,” Lisa continued, “is how you can still pretend this isn’t just as much about making sure Carla, Michael, and the baby are safe as sticking it to Dunkirk.” She leaned her elbows on the table and propped her chin on twined fingers. “You’re not going soft just by staying a few steps ahead of the real scum, Lenny. But you can’t deny we didn’t know Carla from atom before Shawna, and suddenly, she’s not only safe at the shelter, but moving into her own apartment in your building, and getting a cushy job right here where you can keep an eye on her.”

That had nothing to do with how much Carla reminded Len of his mother. Absolutely nothing…

“Like I said,” Len narrowed his eyes, “protecting our investments. Baez wouldn’t look too kindly on something happening to her friend. Neither would you, I imagine.”

“Oh I’d kick your ass,” Lisa smiled with equal affection and menace. “But I’m not worried. You want to feel the baby kick just as much as I do, you just won’t admit it.”

Len squirmed in his seat, and Lisa took on a triumphant expression. Damn her for being able to read all of his tells. And he did _not_ want to feel the baby. It was just…fascinating. 

“Speaking of you going soft though…”

“Don’t start.”

“Come on, I know you’ve seen this mystery man more than once now. And Mick and Hartley are being way too tight-lipped about it, which must mean they know something I don’t.” 

Len scowled. “Why are you wasting their time asking about my love life? Can’t imagine Mick has much patience for it.”

“Love life instead of sex life. Interesting…” Lisa trailed.

Len fanned his hands out on the tabletop, anxious for their food to arrive so he had somewhere to look other than at Lisa or into his coffee cup. Barry was…a nice distraction. Beautiful to be sure. Endearingly charming. Sexy, too. Not to mention _dirty_. And sad. 

Len shouldn’t be affected by that knowledge. Shouldn’t want to know the reasons behind the darkness in the depths of Barry’s eyes these days, or why his smile quivered sometimes, struggling to be real. Len had thought he was reading too much into the kid, imagining that his hero had some edges to him that hadn’t been there before—until the other night. 

The glass. The way Barry’s careful façade had cracked like the shards and he’d been honest with Len for a moment, eyes downcast— _really_ honest. Len’s affair was with The Flash, but Barry had made a brief appearance that night, before sliding effortlessly back into his masked persona.

Len could…use that. Yes. That’s what he should do with the knowledge that Barry was faltering enough with some aspect of his life that he’d chosen to seek solace in an enemy. Len could turn that to his advantage if things got complicated. He could… He…

“Lenny…?”

Len looked up to find Lisa staring at him intently, amused but also questioning. He didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t have a plan. He _always_ had a plan. He needed to come up with one, and quickly, but when he was with Barry, his usual common sense and meticulous focus eluded him.

He wasn’t ready to share Barry with Lisa just yet. That would be accompanied by far too many I told you so's.

“Focus on the heist, Lise,” he said. “It’ll sneak up on us before we know it.”

She got the hint, emphasized by how Len didn’t look away when their met eyes, how he kept his brow knit, his lips pursed, his hands still. She relented without another word of teasing. He’d probably given too much away in that moment, revealed to her that he was possibly, quite _likely_ , in over his head, but at least now she’d drop the subject. For a little while. 

“About that,” Lisa said. 

“That…?”

“The heist, Lenny. I know we’re down to the wire, with everything falling into place. Upgrades, and comms, the gas, the schematics memorized. But with Dunkirk hanging around—”

“We’re not pushing the heist back,” Len said with authority.

“Lenny…”

“We planned things down to the minute detail, Lisa. Including the timeline. The night guard at the history museum is retiring. New guy starts the day we hit the place. We throw off any of the planning now, we open ourselves to mistakes.” He leaned forward across the table. “And you better not be thinking of testing that lipstick out on this one. We have the gas. There’s only one guard. It’s taken care of.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she batted her eyes at him innocently. “That’s for later. Just gave the order to Hartley while it was on my mind. I’ll think of something useful for it.” She smiled to herself as her eyes looked up and off to the side in mischievous musing. 

Len’s ire dissipated. He never could stay angry with Lisa for long. And he wasn’t really upset; he understood her caution, which was smart, but Dunkirk was no real threat to the heist as long as they kept an eye on things. Knowing that he was mostly working solo now made an important difference. No one was going to mess up this job for Len. Not even The Flash. 

If all went according to plan, much as he had toyed with the idea of making a spectacle of things, Barry wouldn’t even know the heist had gone down until the morning after, and then, of course, there would be nothing to pin the blame on Len other than a little leftover ice. And that would just be between Cold and Flash, not nearly enough for CSI Barry Allen to pin on anyone. 

Maybe the heist wouldn’t change anything. But Len chose to treat every new horizon like it might be the last one he ever saw. 

“Let’s go over the basics again, Lise. I want to be sure you’ve got the timetable down.”

In the few minutes remaining before Carla came out with their lunch, they discussed the locations and times and specifics of every step of the heist from their starting rendezvous points outside the museum, to the moment they made their getaway—all within the quiet calm of Saints and Sinners in the early afternoon. Barely even any regulars were there at this time of day. 

Then Carla was there with their food, handling her tray with flawless ease, despite having to maneuver around her belly, just as something caught Len’s eye. Something…off. 

He knew the glint wasn’t Carla, but when he turned and caught sight of the large mirror behind the bar, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary within the glass either. Just his own reflection staring back at him. He looked behind him at the other tables, wondering if someone had gotten up, moved, knocked over a chair, something that might explain what he’d seen in the mirror. But no. Nothing. 

Len shook his head as he turned back to the table and thanked Carla for their food. He clearly needed more sleep. 

XXXXX

It was Friday. Freaking _Friday_. All Barry wanted was to take a half day and screw patrol. He deserved his Friday night. But he likely wouldn’t get any time to himself until tomorrow. Not with Scudder in the wind. And seriously? _Scudder?_ To think he’d thought Snart was bad.

Snart… He _had_ called last night, asking what Barry was wearing. Barry had considered answering, “I could come show you,” but it was too late, and he was too tired. If he’d gone over then, he wouldn’t have wanted to zip back to his own bed until morning, which would have complicated things more than he was ready for just yet.

Snart did ask him to show him eventually though. “What’s that newfangled thing the kids are using?”

“Face Time?” Barry had snickered. And soon they were looking at each other while they talked. Snart on top of his covers, in soft sleep pants and a long sleeved T-shirt again, while Barry pulled back his own covers to reveal that he slept in his underwear. He ran too hot most days for anything more. 

He'd scanned his phone down his body for Snart to see. Then ran his hand down his chest. They watched each other touch themselves for the camera and came practically overlapping in less than ten minutes. Barry felt blissfully tired in the aftermath but not fulfilled.

“Tomorrow night?” Snart had asked before they hung up.

“Chasing down The Invisible Man, remember? Saturday?”

“Deal. Text me a time.”

“I will. Night, Sna—” Barry caught himself. “Len.”

“Good night, Barry.”

Everything had seemed so simple in that moment. Barry had slept so well again. Had something to look forward to, which had started his day on the right foot for once, but then, just like the past several days, his father kept trying to call him. And Barry just…didn’t want to deal with that. 

He texted his father instead. _Give me some space, Dad, okay? I’m not mad, I just need time._

_Barry, please, I could never blame you for what happened._

Barry stared at his phone, debating how to answer that, but everything that came to mind would either be too harsh again or a lie. He set his phone aside without replying.

“What do you got for me, Allen?”

“Huh?” Barry clutched the edges of his desk to keep from toppling out of his chair at the sudden interruption. 

“Answer personal calls on your own time,” Singh narrowed his sharp, dark eyes on Barry’s phone as he entered fully, stalking right up to the desk. He didn’t usually enter Barry’s lab; this was serious. He’d also grown out the beard again, which somehow made him even more intimidating. “This is a high profile case, Allen, with a lot of bureaucratic bullshit on my ass because of how close those thefts happened after each other. We need real evidence. Something more to pin it on Scudder. Something to tell us where he is.”

Barry fought away the glare that sprang to his face. He looked down at the wide array of lab results scattered over his desk. “I know that, Captain, I wasn’t—” He stopped himself before making an excuse about his phone; Singh wouldn’t care. “I’m doing everything I can. I’ve scoured what the teams brought back—twice. Scudder’s still technically just a person of interest. The other forensics—”

“I’m not asking the rest of the forensics team, Allen, I’m asking you. I expect more from you. Do you think I let you keep this space because of West’s influence?” He glanced around the expansive room that Barry had all to himself. His stern expression remained unchanged as he turned his attention back on Barry. “I don’t do nepotism.”

“No, sir, I know.” Barry clenched his fists beneath his desk, and muttered, “Pretty sure it’s because everyone else hates this lab and prefers the equipment in the new one.”

Singh’s glower in response to Barry even vaguely talking back to him was withering enough to kill the plants in the room—if Barry had any. He stepped closer to the desk and Barry felt the need to back up, even though he was sitting. “Give me something, Allen. Anything that might be hiding a fiber we could trace to Scudder. Even once we have him in custody, we don’t have enough yet to hold him. Check everything a third time if you have to. No one leaves behind nothing.”

Barry was so sick of hearing that—because apparently this guy _did_ leave nothing. But regardless, he nodded.

“Good.” Singh backed up a step before turning fully to head out of the room. “Can’t expect The Flash to do all the heavy lifting,” he said as he left, which only made Barry angrier, because little did Singh know, The Flash _was_ doing all the heavy lifting. 

He shook that thought away. No, he wasn’t. Barry had Cisco and Caitlin helping out too, not to mention Joe’s efforts, and the other people on the case. Even as The Flash, Barry wasn’t responsible for everything. It just felt like that most days. And Singh was no help.

Barry’s phone buzzed. Reflexively, he grabbed it to check who the message was from. His dad again. Damn it. 

Then, just as Barry was going to set the phone aside without reading the message, it buzzed in his hand with one from Cisco about tonight’s patrol and getting there as soon as his shift ended, _with takeout to share maybe, please_ , because Cisco and Caitlin weren’t sure they would get the chance to leave.

It shouldn’t have made Barry even angrier, because his friends were working hard too, but now was not the right time to ask him favors.

“Hey, Barr—”

“ _What?_ ” Barry barked before even looking to see who had entered.

Joe stood halfway to Barry’s desk with his hands raised. “Whoa. Calm down, kiddo. What’s up?” He pointed back behind him before continuing his forward momentum. “Singh giving you a hard time?”

Barry sighed. He was doing it again. Taking his frustrations out on everyone who didn’t deserve it. He needed more justifiable targets. Though he’d prefer to just somehow stop feeling like he needed to punch something. “No more than usual. He’s right anyway. I should be able to see past this, find something everyone else is missing. It’s one thing if the evidence doesn’t point at anyone, it’s another to have no evidence at all.”

“Well maybe this’ll cheer you up,” Joe said, smiling good-naturedly as he perched on the edge of Barry’s desk. “Got a new list for you to patrol tonight. Scudder is _not_ trying to stay hidden. Got witnesses all over town who’ve seen him, a couple even from this morning.”

Barry wished that news could perk up his foul mood. “We’ve been trying that all week, Joe. He’s been seen around both crime scenes, neighborhoods nearby, and other places around the city, but everyone says the same thing. That sure, they saw him, but he seems to appear out of nowhere and disappear just as easily. No one knows where he’s coming and going from.” 

“Which is exactly why a new list of places to stakeout, along with the old lists, should narrow your search. Basic police work, Barry. A pattern's gotta emerge eventually.”

“You can’t make a pattern out of _random_ ,” Barry grumbled, staring down at his phone that he still had clutched in his hand, though the screen had gone dark. 

“I thought random _was_ a pattern?” Joe said, the smile ever in his voice, which even during Barry’s darkest moods drudged up a bit of a smile from him too.

He looked up at his father and couldn’t help but chuckle at Joe’s patient ‘I’ll get you to break eventually’ stare. He used to pull that all the time when Barry was younger, still bitter and angry about what had happened to his parents. He was bitter and angry about entirely new things now—and some old ones—but Joe’s trick still worked enough that Barry's tense shoulders sagged. 

“Sorry. It is a pattern. You’re right. Which makes it even more likely that he’s a meta, it’s just—” Barry stopped mid thought as he realized—meta human. Random. Seen all over the city. Entering and exiting places with tons of loot in almost no time at all, with no one seeing him! “He’s a teleporter! Like Peek-A-Boo! That would explain everything!” Barry nearly tossed his phone to the end of his desk as he started rifling through his spread out reports again at almost Flash speed. 

Well, almost everything—not how the man managed to escape without leaving even a single fiber, but that could come down to smart planning and the right outfit.

“Atta boy, Barry,” Joe said, patting the desk as he stood up. “And just think. Already had an epiphany and the day’s only half over.” 

Barry looked up with a glare at the joke, but Joe just giggled. Barry allowed himself to break into a similar smile if only to appease his father. If he wasn’t careful, Joe would start to really worry, like everyone else was, and then he’d have to sit Barry down for one of his patented ‘talks’. Right now Barry preferred the smile and joke and try to cheer him up approach without any third degree.

“Thanks, Joe,” Barry said as Joe headed off. He promised to pass along the new list before Barry left for STAR Labs, or to bring it out there himself if he missed Barry later. 

At least, finally, Barry had some direction with his line of thinking. He’d been going out of his mind trying to figure out what power Scudder could possibly have to explain his exploits. It hadn’t occurred to Barry that someone—other than the Mardon brothers—could have the same power as someone he’d already faced. 

What slowly started to eat at Barry though was how the evidence definitely suggested he was right, Scudder had to be teleporting, but that didn’t actually help anything. Barry couldn’t even consider using the same tactics against Scudder as he’d used on Peek-A-Boo if he couldn’t find the guy, and none of the evidence gave him any direction. His best bet would be blind luck stumbling upon Scudder somewhere, or trying to figure out where he might hit next to get ahead of him. But that was just as unlikely, since Mercury Labs and the glassworks had next to nothing in common. 

Barry’s phone buzzed again. Then again. _Again._ His father. Cisco. Iris wondering about next week’s family dinner, since Barry had skipped this week because of patrol. He looked to his computer for a distraction, but saw the accumulation of emails piling up that he hadn’t read since lunch. He looked at the paperwork that told him nothing. At his phone again. _Damn it._

Even a breakthrough felt like the room was growing smaller, the walls slowly inching closer to him, making him feel suffocated and prickly beneath his skin like he was about ready to—

Barry froze and stared at his hand as he realized he’d picked up his phone again and nearly hurled it at the wall. He doubted it could survive a second impact, especially if he unintentionally used his speed. 

He took a breath, pulled his phone close, and swiped his screen awake. None of his new texts were from Snart, but that was the only person Barry wanted to see right now.

XXXXX

Len pulled out his phone to see who’d messaged him as he waited for Mrs. Pak to return from the back of the general store. He'd tried to tell her that he was fine, he didn’t need anything, never needed anything unless he was picking up groceries, which he’d already done that week, but convincing the woman of such things was like talking to a brick wall. She’d just speak right over him, going a million miles a minute. 

_Busy?_ Barry had texted him. 

_Errands_. Lisa had parted ways with Len after lunch. 

_Illegal errands?_

Len smirked as he texted back, _Not technically_.

_Want company?_

Len’s smile dropped. It was the middle of the day. They weren’t supposed to meet until Saturday. 

He considered his answer for several seconds, but reminded himself where he was and what he was up to. He had several stops to go before he could head home.

_Not a good time._

_Where are you? I can meet you._

Persistent. Something must have happened. Maybe the Scudder case. Len knew what went over the wire. 

_Corner store in my neighborhood_ , Len replied vaguely, not thinking for a moment that Barry could find him on that information. _I’ll message you when I’m done and we can—_ Len was still typing when he caught sight of a faint blur of movement and looked up to see Barry walking through the door.

How…?

“Hey,” Barry said, looking windblown and antsy in a cardigan, button down, and slacks, with his customary dark trench coat with the red interior that Len could admit he adored. Normally. 

Len pocketed his phone and kept his face neutral. “How did you find me?”

Barry shrugged. “You said corner store, so I just…checked all the corners.”

“ _All—_ ”

“Can’t do that too often though or my clothes catch on fire,” Barry added with a light laugh. It was stilted though, forced. He had his hands jammed into his pockets, and couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. Barry was always a little restless—he had lightning in his veins—but this was different. 

The kid wanted distraction. Escape. Normally Len was only too happy to provide, but he was on the job at the moment, even if nothing in this part of his ‘work’ was strictly illegal. “Barry, I need you to pay close attention,” Len spoke slowly, steeling his expression to show that he was not amused—even if he was a little. “I did not invite you along. I said now isn’t a good time, and it isn’t. You can’t be here—”

“Here you go, Lenny. Take, take.” Mrs. Pak reappeared and pushed a large, warm bag of aromatic food into his arms that was far more than he could ever eat alone. 

Len turned away from Barry’s hurt expression to address the woman. “Mrs. Pak, I tried to explain—”

“Need more for friend?” she gestured at Barry. 

Len sighed heavily, because Barry’s smile was starting to peek through again, only now it was real. “No.” He switched to Korean and stated plainly, “You never need to give me anything.”

“Nonsense,” she answered just as rapid-fire in her native tongue, then went on a little too fast for Len to follow, though he definitely caught something about ‘protection’ and ‘good boy’ and ‘too skinny’ with some endearment attached to his name. He was pretty sure the skinny comment was for Barry, though he never knew with Mrs. Pak. 

“You speak Korean?” Barry spoke up, rather than address any of the important points to this encounter. 

Len shot him a scowl. “Very little. And very poorly.” 

“He too modest,” Mrs. Pak said, because of course she did, and of course she’d engage Barry in conversation. “Better every day. You need more, Lenny, you say so.” She patted Len’s arm three times swiftly and then was gone in a… _flash_ as the after lunch rush started to come in and he was thankfully relieved of her doting attention. 

Barry looked far too smug as they stood near the entrance, Len holding a bag of food he had no talent for refusing, no matter how many people he could sway with his words normally. “I thought Lenny was reserved for Lisa?” Barry asked with a self-assured smirk. 

Len refused to smile back at him. “It is, she… Lisa was with me when we first… I didn’t want to be rude,” Len finally blurted, which of course only served to make Barry more pleased with himself and what he’d just witnessed. 

“You didn’t want to be rude. To the little Korean lady who’s giving you kickbacks.”

Len did not have to take this. He’d gotten what he needed from Mrs. Pak, and much more, as always, so he turned on his heel and headed for the exit, knowing Barry would be hot on his heels. “It’s not a kickback. It’s leftovers. That ‘little Korean lady’ makes the best bulgogi you’ll ever taste.”

“Does that mean I get some?” Barry eyed the bag with enthusiasm once they were out on the street.

“Unlikely, considering you’re about to _scram_ ,” Len snapped. 

“Oh, come on, what’s the big deal? Where are you going next?”

Len turned to Barry completely exasperated, and pulled him out of the way of a pedestrian about to pass by on the sidewalk, half to keep Barry from being a large as life roadblock, and also to bring the kid closer. “None of your business,” he answered sharply. 

He thought that would be the end of it, but Barry just stared at him, and when his smile dropped, his eyes looked— _damn it_. Pleading. 

“It’s nothing exciting, Barry, or that requires company. I’m just making some weekly...check-ins.”

Barry’s mouth dropped open as amusement lit up his face again. “Oh my god, you _are_ a crime boss.”

Len jerked Barry by the sleeve of his trench coat, even though no other passersby were close enough to have overheard. “Please, Barry. _Be louder_.”

“Wait,” Barry glanced around them, “how much of this neighborhood is yours? Here…down to Saints and Sinners…your apartment building…” He spun in a slow circle as he listed everything off and painted a mental picture in his mind of the area. His eyes were wide when he turned back to Len. 

It wasn’t _that_ big of a radius. “Barry…” 

“Just a thief, huh?” Barry said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets again and regarded Len like he had everything figured out. “Sure. So what do you charge these people if _that’s_ the tip,” he nodded at the bulgogi.

Len debated for all of ten seconds whether or not he should paint a harsher picture to keep Barry in line or tell the kid the truth. But in the long run, everything hinged on Barry believing Len would stick to their deal, which he had every intention of honoring—as long as it continued to suit his aims. 

The heist was a week from Monday. Len couldn’t afford to alienate the kid just now, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Even if Barry was being a little shit. 

“They give me things because they choose to,” Len said, indicating the general store, then looking around at the other obvious shops and places of business in the neighborhood. “If you want to call me a crime boss, fine. I do offer protection, but I never ask for anything in return. Things…happened when I first moved in. It wasn’t overnight. Some of them have kept the police off my back. They think they owe me. They don’t. But if it keeps a positive relationship going, I won’t prevent it from continuing.”

Barry scanned down Len’s body from head to toe, like he expected nothing less than for all of that to have been a lie. “They don’t owe you,” he repeated, no censor to his skepticism.

Len shaped his face into as honest of an expression as he could—or at least as honest as he ever was. “I don’t work that way. Not unless I have to.”

“If someone challenges you, you mean.” 

“If they’re someone like the Santinis, yes.” 

“Or me?” Barry’s face went neutral too, and Len wasn’t quite sure he could read it like that. 

He frowned, and leaned into Barry's space. “No one ever owes me like _that_.” 

Barry’s stoicism fell with a wave of embarrassment at the edges as his hands came out of his pockets and he reached for the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean for…”

 _The sex_. No, Barry wouldn’t think of what they were doing as an exchange of services, or that any of this was about them owing each other. But truth was, sleeping together meant they could use their old deal and their new arrangement against each other, use it as a weapon to get what they wanted. 

Naturally, Barry had never considered using Len like that. Len was just too used to being used for _something_. But then Barry did want to use him, didn’t he? Use him to forget, to lose himself, to leave his normal life behind for a while. Wasn’t that the same? Len wasn’t so sure, since he liked losing himself in Barry too. 

“Think nothing of it, Barry,” Len dismissed the tension that had crept ever stronger into their conversation. “Look. I have more of these to do. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Barry’s eyes darted to the side—definitely something with work, something with the case, something Barry was running from. “Took the afternoon off,” he lied all too easily. “I have time before patrol tonight, figured we’d get in that rain check early. What’s the big deal if I come with you? You know, seeing as how you’re not doing anything _illegal_.” He flicked his eyes back to Len and smiled ever so subtly, ever so sweetly. 

If they were just using each other, was it really so bad? It could be, oh Len knew it could be, with how many open wounds they’d already made known to each other, but he couldn’t bring himself to prompt that sad puppy look from the kid again. At least he’d already made his stop at the electronics store. Hartley would have complicated things. 

“Fine,” Len said, pushing the bag of food into Barry’s arms, which the kid scrambled to take hold of. “Then you’re going to be useful. No asking questions. No interfering. No matter what you see or hear. Anyone asks _you_ a question, you work for me.” 

Barry’s grin was blinding with the thrill of adventure. “Sure thing, boss.” He gave a little salute. “Sam is on the job.”

Len wavered between cringing and breaking into a smile at the reminder of ‘Sam’, Barry’s criminal alter ego that Len’s father hadn’t bought for a second. He'd just figured Len was sleeping with the kid. Funny how now, with his father gone, that’s exactly what Len was doing. 

“Just…be Barry,” Len said.

Barry—who apparently enjoyed make-believe. And dress up, if the Flash suit and that silly all black getup had been any indication. 

Mmm… Len couldn’t help once again imagining dressing Barry up in something _pretty_ , but that line of thinking was far too distracting. Later…

“Come on,” Len said as he turned to head down the street. He grinned as he added, “and try to keep up.”

XXXXX

Barry almost couldn’t believe he’d convinced Snart to let him stay. _And_ while he was keeping tabs on his ‘territory’. Little had Barry known how powerful Snart was. This was good intel. And kind of fun.

There were several businesses they hit, one after the other. Snart was as smooth as ever asking how things were going. Some of the proprietors said very little and that was that, some quietly mentioned the cops, or some guy named Dunkirk, which Snart made a point to respond to by saying he needed to know the second that man showed up again. Even fewer of them asked about Barry. 

“Oh, he’s new,” Snart would say. “Just giving him the fifty cent tour.”

Barry smiled but didn’t say anything. If anyone thought he looked like a cop in his cardigan sweater and cleanly pressed outfit, none of them voiced it. After all, he was with Snart.

It was after the third mention of Dunkirk that Barry realized Snart was usually the one to ask about the guy first, so between stops, he asked who Dunkirk was—like mob family Dunkirks?—but Snart shook his head. 

“No questions, remember?”

There must be a bit of a territory war going on. Interesting. Barry would have to keep his ear to the ground. 

For now, he focused on gleaning what intel he could—and juggling the various items some of the shop owners had insisted on giving Snart. Snart hadn’t been lying though; not once did he ever ask for anything; the people just kept trying to give him stuff. Usually food, or something new from their shop. But never, ever cash. 

A few times Snart was able to deflect having to accept the gift, but the other times, Barry merely added to his burden. He had several bags to carry, some at least he could consolidate into one, by the time they reached a convenience store near Snart’s apartment. 

Barry wasn’t immune to how the people of the neighborhood acted around Snart. None of them seemed afraid. Intimidated maybe. Respectful for sure. But Snart didn’t usually resort to fear. He preferred showmanship. It was the long game, Barry told himself, as he clung to the belief that none of this—not even the young woman helping her grandmother at the local bakery who looked at Snart like some sort of savior—meant Snart was anything but bad news. 

This wasn’t goodness, protecting these people. It was killing them with kindness—just like what Barry was doing to Snart. It was still selfish in the long run. Sure, it proved that Snart didn’t need to be taken down like Mardon, left to rot in jail—he wasn’t evil, and he did care about the city—but that hardly made him good. Hardly made him exempt from a little payback. Hardly meant that he didn’t deserve exactly what he had coming when Barry was through with him. 

So maybe Barry was being selfish too. Maybe Barry was being a little bad for once. But it all had to even out somewhere, didn’t it? Barry was so sick of being good, of being the person everyone turned to, that everyone depended on. He wanted to ruin something beautiful, that deep down was just as ugly as everything else in this tarnished city. And that was Snart to a T, the perfect culmination of everything Barry needed. 

“What are you smirking at?” Snart asked as he reached for the door into the convenience store. 

Barry shrugged as best he could laden with so many bags. “Nothing.”

Snart paused for only a moment before pushing into the shop. 

Angry voices struck their ears immediately. 

“Open the register!”

“Wrong neighborhood! Nothing for you! Go, go!” an accented voice that Barry took for middle eastern answered the young sounding assailant. 

The cashier counter was further into the back, but he and Snart spotted the commotion after only a few steps. Snart paused, opening up his long coat and placing his hand on something Barry couldn’t see, but that he easily guessed was the cold gun. 

“ _Snart_ ,” Barry hissed.

“No questions. No interfering,” Snart answered just as quietly as he moved forward with slow, clipped steps. 

The robber had a gun pointed at the cashier, who Barry could see now had his hands raised, but was inching toward a shotgun behind the counter. Barry could see it from his angle, but the robber likely couldn’t. 

Barry readied himself to intervene, regardless of what he’d promised Snart. He wasn’t sure how old the robber was—he had a ski mask on—but his voice made him sound about fifteen.

“Problem?” Snart asked casually, drawing his jacket open further to show off the cold gun as he approached. 

The robber whirled around, pointing his revolver at Snart for a moment, then back at the cashier. Barry saw the moment when the robber registered who it was he was looking at—the way his eyes widened beneath his mask, his hand trembling worse than it had been already. 

The cashier rattled off something at Snart in a language Barry didn’t understand, but Snart just held up a hand to quiet him—just how many languages did Snart _speak_?

“Not at the point of no return yet, kid,” Snart said, never betraying any sudden movements, just ease and guile and fluid motion forward. “Now you know what Rashid meant by this being the wrong neighborhood. But I’m forgiving. Put down the gun. Walk out the door. Stay away from my streets. And we won’t have a problem. Try something, however, and well…you wouldn’t create the most fashionable ice sculpture with that mask, but I can make do.”

A thrill shot up Barry’s spine at hearing Snart’s _Cold_ voice. 

Rashid was still inching toward the shotgun. Snart noticed as well, and shook his head so subtly that Barry almost missed it. This could get messy real fast, but Barry knew he was faster. 

Snart was faster too, apparently.

Rashid vanished beneath the counter; the robber whirled his gun toward Snart; but Snart charged forward to intercept the kid’s swing and caught his wrist in his left hand, while his right drew out the cold gun. It all happened so slowly to Barry, but he never had to move a muscle. 

Snart pulled himself and the robber down just as Rashid rose from beneath the counter and fired over their heads. Then Snart was up again, as if he’d been expecting that, and backed the kid against the counter while Rashid looked on in horror at having nearly taken off Captain Cold’s head. 

The robber’s gun clattered to the counter as he lost his grip on it with Snart pinning him so effectively. The whir of the cold gun filled the shop, but it sounded...different to Barry, looked slightly different too, like maybe it wasn't the real model. Snart pressed the end of it to the kid’s chin, while he ripped the mask off of him. Fifteen, all right. Maybe seventeen at most. And terrified. 

“I won’t be seeing you in my neighborhood again, will I?” Snart said low and dangerous. 

The kid shook his head fiercely as he quivered beneath Snart’s weight. 

“Good.” Snart stepped back, powered down the gun, and gestured with it toward the door. 

The kid took off without looking back, leaving his mask and gun behind. 

Snart put his hand on top of the forgotten items before Rashid could reach for them on the countertop. “Rashid, what did I say about being so trigger happy?” He spoke more like chiding a child than a grown shop owner. The man dutifully put his shotgun down again. “Thank you. And be more careful next time. I’m rather fond of my face. Now—” 

“Sir, I have something for you, sir,” Rashid spoke quickly while Snart stowed his gun, that Barry had a suspicious feeling wasn't as dangerous as he was pretending and made him wonder where the real one might be. 

“Rashid, I don’t—”

“Please, sir, please,” Rashid said, and ducked through a back door before Snart could protest further. 

Barry realized he still stood where he’d stopped when they first entered. He’d barely even felt the breeze of the kid run past him when he left, he was so focused on Snart, and how flawlessly he’d handled the situation, like there was never a moment when he didn’t have complete control, even when things went south. 

Snart looked back at him expectantly, and Barry took a few careful steps forward as he considered the building rush of—he didn’t know what he was feeling right now, but he knew it felt good. And exciting. And _demanding_. 

“It’s not as if I’m one of the good guys,” Snart said, like he needed to excuse his behavior, when lately he’d been working so hard to prove to Barry that he wasn’t all bad, even if he hadn’t been working toward that goal consciously. 

It was reflex that Barry wanted to respond as he had before—that Snart was being a terrible villain this week. But no…no, he was a villain. Barry couldn’t forget that. But he skirted the line between vile and virtuous enough that Barry could skirt the line too. 

Barry set the bags on the counter. “Let’s go back to your apartment.” 

“I have one more stop after this.” 

“Skip it.” 

Snart regarded him closely, curiously, so Barry moved into Snart’s body to make sure he was being very, very clear. 

“I want you to _fuck me_ ,” he said, low and quiet and rough. “Right. Now.”

Snart shuddered. Swallowed visibly. And eyed the tease of skin at Barry’s collarbone where his shirt opened. 

Rashid came back, and Barry stepped away from Snart, reclaiming the bags so they could make their exit. The cashier had a bottle of something wrapped in brown paper—wine or whiskey or something—that he handed to Snart with a flutter of words in that other language. This time, Snart didn’t try to reject the gift. 

“And Rashid, if you really want to make this up to me, do me a favor. Give Teresa at the liquor store a message for me.” He mentioned Dunkirk again, said he needed to know the moment anyone spotted him. 

“Of course, sir, Mr. Snart, sir,” Rashid said with a dip of his head. 

“Thank you.”

They left the shop swiftly after that, and Snart led them into an alley behind the building. Snart’s apartment was only a block or two down, but an unspoken agreement had passed between them in that moment before Rashid returned. 

Once they were safely out of eyesight from anyone on the streets, Barry grabbed hold of Snart around his waist and whisked them off to his apartment.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's meta power is NOT to travel through mirrors. He did that as a normal human. He does have a meta power though. :-) 
> 
> Yes, I named that baby after ColdFlashTrash. I'm debating if Carla's going to have the baby during the fic, and have Len get to hold her. Yeah? Maybe toward the end...
> 
> Also, yes, the next chapter will be mostly sex again. ;-)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snart gives Barry some much deserved (and desired) payback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm aware that there are some readers who are really big sticklers about who tops and bottoms. I get that everyone has their things, even if it's not something I can understand in this case, since I prefer couples that switch, but this fic will continue to switch which of them tops, because...that's just how I see their relationship. There will likely be another sex scene where neither tops, another where Len does, and another where Barry does, so it actually evens out quite perfectly to appease all readers, so I hope it isn't something that would steer any of you away. For every person who says, 'I really wish you wouldn't have Barry bottom' I also have people saying 'I really wish you wouldn't have Len bottom' so I can't please everyone. I'm simply here to tell a story the way it wants to be told. 
> 
> Thank you though, for those of you who, when you make a request like that, do so as politely as you can. I do appreciate that! :-)

Barry’s collection of Snart’s gifts landed with a thud of discarded bags on the floor. It all would have seemed like a blurred rush to Snart, but he must have been growing used to being whisked away, because he recovered instantly and had Barry pinned against the door to his apartment the second it closed behind them. 

Snart’s lips, and tongue, and _hands_. Barry whimpered into the other man’s mouth as they kissed, and reached for his waist. He felt Snart’s cool fingers tease up his abs beneath his button down and cardigan, and thrummed with vibrations from the base of his spine into his palms. 

“No speed,” Snart spoke against his lips, kissing feverishly, possessively, as both hands caressed the muscles of Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry shivered from the faint tickle; Snart was being so feather light in his touches to counter the heat of how he sought after Barry’s tongue. 

“Huh…?” Barry felt feverish in his want; maybe he hadn’t heard right. 

Snart slid his hands around to grip the bare skin of Barry’s back. “I don’t want a single moment of this to go too fast. Save the speed for when I tell you.” 

Barry nodded within the blissful haze of letting Snart lead. He’d loved having all of the control the first time—well, most of the time really—but going along for the ride was nice too. Letting Snart have and take what he wanted, knowing that it just made the man more and more thoroughly _his_. 

Snart’s hands left Barry, and he registered his jacket being pushed from his shoulders, then Snart’s being shrugged off as well. They stepped over and around the cast-off articles, kicked off their shoes without caring that they never made it to the rug, and moved through the apartment, Snart walking backwards with ease, while Barry eagerly followed. 

At some point the cold gun was drawn from its holster and dropped over the back of the sofa to land harmlessly on the cushions, but they never stopped moving. Never stopped touching. Never stopped delving into each other’s mouth, hot and wet and needy. 

Barry noticed vaguely that they bypassed the stairs, only half aware of his surroundings, though Snart clearly had the place mapped in his head like a damn GPS, because he never tripped or wavered. The moment they reached the desk against the far wall, Snart spun them around and hefted Barry on top of it. 

The desk was so tidy, only a few items were disturbed. The pen holder spilled over, the keyboard drawer shoved in, the mouse knocked aside just so, rousing the computer from sleep mode. Barry glanced behind him at the eruption of light as black was banished in favor of Snart’s desktop background. Barry blinked at it for a moment before the image registered. 

“Is that…?”

“For research purposes,” Snart said, too winded for Barry to take seriously. The picture was one of the first photographs Iris had snagged of The Flash for an article—no, for her blog, way back in the beginning. A red and yellow streak across the city. 

Barry didn’t try to hide his smirk as he turned forward. Snart had his hands up Barry’s shirt again, Barry’s legs spread so he could crowd in close, with their lips mere inches apart, but Barry had to chuckle. “Sure it is,” he said, winding his arms around Snart’s neck. “Do you have a secret stash of Flash pictures, Captain Cold? Maybe some of the ones that get a really good angle of my _ass_.”

There was a flush to Snart’s cheeks, but that was all arousal. If he harbored any embarrassment at being found out, he didn’t show it. Instead, he darted his tongue along his bottom lip. “Any sites you recommend for finding shots like that?” 

Barry laughed harder, and Snart kissed the sound right out of his mouth. 

Snart unbuttoned Barry’s sweater and the shirt beneath with the precision of an artist or engineer, like someone who worked daily on intricate projects. Both items caught around Barry’s elbows when Snart pushed them from his shoulders, but neither of them cared. 

Barry couldn’t easily lean back, or he’d be propped against the computer screen, so he steadied himself on the edge of the desk, stomach muscles taut to keep him upright, which pulled Snart’s attention. Snart kissed down Barry’s bare chest, licking along his abs while deft fingers undid his slacks. 

Barry nearly thrummed with speed again, but he quelled the urge. He could control his powers. _He could control his powers_. Snart just felt so good—every touch and kiss and _lick_. Snart was wearing a black Henley, which Barry hadn’t noticed with the long jacket he’d had on before. The shirt looked sinfully clingy to Snart’s shoulders as he pulled Barry’s pants and underwear down his thighs. 

Snart took Barry into his mouth like he was starved for it, and Barry groaned. This was so much better than touching himself, even with Snart’s eyes on him. But he wanted more; he wanted so much more than Snart’s mouth. He’d felt so empty for so long; he needed something to fill him, anything, and Snart was the only thing that even remotely came close to making Barry believe life could balance out. Today was a good start toward finding that balance, because as much as Barry had enjoyed fucking Snart, he’d longed to have the tables turned, to know Snart in every way he could have him.

While tucked between Barry’s thighs, Snart seemed to be trying to get him as wet as possible. He pulled up before Barry had the chance to question it, and undid his own slacks. Snart removed them and his underwear with an urgency that never looked desperate or sloppy, always powerful and in control, just like he’d been in the convenience store, facing down a gunman without anything but a shelf of potato chips getting hit. 

Barry coiled his arms around Snart’s neck again as soon as the man stepped in between his legs. Tipped back on the end of the desk, Barry wrapped his legs around Snart’s waist and reveled in how they collided—this was why Snart wanted him wet, and _fuck_ it felt good, the slide when they connected, Snart’s cock grinding hot against Barry’s own. 

It was only natural for Barry to want to go faster, frantic as he was, even if he held back from using his real speed. But locked in this new position with Snart’s arms around his back, thrusting firmly forward, Barry felt the other man start to slow them. He had Barry pinned; he controlled the pace. And it was _so slow_ , damn it, Barry needed friction!

“ _Harder_ ,” Barry gasped into the side of Snart’s neck. “Faster, please…”

Snart nuzzled the side of Barry’s hair, panting equally breathless into his ear, “ _No_.”

Barry squeezed Snart’s neck, struggling in vain to buck up and force him to pick up the pace. “ _Please_ …I need it…I’ve been so wound up, I just—”

“Shhh…come on, Barry, have some pride,” Snart chided him with a mocking lilt. His voice was a low rumble, and every phrase was followed by a slow grind of their cocks. “You can do this. I want to draw this out like you did with me. Want you shaking before I’ve even started to press inside. You want it good like that, don’t you? Want to come undone beneath my fingers, beneath the weight of me as I _fuck_ you.”

 _Oh god_ , that all sounded so good. Payback was a bitch, and so was Snart, but Barry couldn’t complain. He was shaking already. He held onto Snart’s neck all the more tightly, leaving bruises behind he was certain, and shuddered with a pulse of his power he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. 

“ _Damn it_ …” he said as his vocal chords quivered.

“No powers unless I say so,” Snart reminded him, rolling his hips harder but still so slow. 

“I’m _trying_.” Barry mouthed along Snart’s neck to ground himself. “Thought you liked my powers.”

“Oh, I do. So do you. But resisting can be sweet too, Scarlet. And I do so owe you for last time…” Snart shifted down, pushing Barry just slightly back so that his dick dropped beneath Barry’s balls, and pressed with the faintest, teasing pressure at his unprepared entrance. 

Snart was wet from Barry, wet from himself, dripping down his head, so even without any force, the promise of what would come made Barry whimper. Snart dragged his cock along the puckered skin again and again—wet, and hot, and daunting in its size, but only ever just barely pushing forward, making Barry hiss at the momentary stretch, and then pulling away to tease along his skin. 

Barry knew, when he was thinking clearly, that he didn’t actually want Snart to press inside like this—not at all stretched, no lube, no condom. But in the moments between, when Snart’s tip tormented him with that slow slide of heated skin, Barry was close to begging for him to just _get on with it_ already. 

“Soon, Barry,” Snart whispered, reading his mind, or maybe the desperation in his eyes. “We’ll work our way there…one step at a time.”

Barry hadn’t even noticed that Snart’s right hand had extracted itself from his waist until fingers grazed his jawline, then his chin, then moved to his lips. He didn’t need to be told. He opened his mouth and sucked Snart’s fingers in with fervor. The man had such amazing hands. Barry never got tired of watching them, and when Snart talked, they were always moving, always dancing to the rhythm of his speech. It was hypnotic in its own right, just as much as the man’s alluring voice. 

Snart pulled his moistened fingers down and out of sight, making way for his mouth as he kissed Barry deep, moving their tongues along each other with the same slow movements as his dick grazing Barry’s entrance. 

The damp digits replaced Snart’s cock soon enough, but Barry could still feel the man hard and twitching against his thigh. The first finger pushed in so slowly, it made Barry groan in frustration. Barry knew he’d asked for this, assured his own demise in how he’d tortured Snart the first time. And he couldn’t hold back a single filthy noise that left him with how much he loved it. 

“Please…” Barry whined, holding Snart’s face and letting his thumbs graze his lips. Snart licked them both and drew the right one into his mouth with his tongue. “ _Please_ …”

“Tell me, Barry,” Snart said as he kissed the thumb he’d dampened, “tell me all the dirty things you want me to do to you.”

The first finger pushed in past the knuckle and twisted, pressing in deeper. Barry spread his legs all the wider to accommodate, his ankles hooked around Snart’s hips. He marveled at the strength in the man’s left hand, holding him upright while the right fucked into him with slow, measured thrusts. 

“I…I want…” Barry tried to clear his mind, to focus his thoughts, but everything was a daze of heat and need and Snart’s _hands_. “I want to feel…more of you…all of you. Want you to…to fuck me with your fingers. Fuck me with your…your _tongue_. Fuck me with your cock til I beg you to go _faster_.” 

_Til it hurts. Til I scream. Til I feel…_

“You sure about that, Barry?” Snart panted against Barry’s fingertips, and licked his thumb again, “think you can handle that?” 

He pressed a second finger to Barry’s entrance and slid in so, so slowly that Barry keened every inch of the way in. Once both fingers were inside together, they started to stretch him, twist and scissor open, constantly stroking as they moved, teasing along his prostate with practiced, talented motion. 

Barry hadn’t been this good for Snart, he couldn’t have been, yet he remembered the most beautiful, needy noises leaving the man that poured from his own lips now. Maybe that was why this worked so well, because they could both reduce the other to a complete, incoherent mess. 

“Fuck me…now, please.” Barry rocked against Snart’s hand, trying to pull his fingers in deeper. “Right now, right here, _please_...”

“Patience, Barry…we’re too unprepared for that, here on my desk,” Snart said. He slowed his hand so that he dragged the pads of his fingers along the intimate curves inside of Barry, over every nerve that made him shudder, pulling all the way out, only to press back in. 

Barry squirmed as he bucked up helplessly in response, but it wasn’t the right angle, rocked back on the desk as he was. Only Snart could speed things up the way Barry wanted, unless Barry took over and disobeyed about using his powers. He was tempted, so tempted, but he didn’t want to ruin this, no matter how maddening it was. 

Barry gripped Snart’s head in his hands, thumbs hooked around his strong jaw, and kissed him, slow and deep and messy as they panted into each other’s mouths. “Then let’s go up—”

“Not yet,” Snart gruffed out, completely unswayed. 

Barry groaned and dropped his head back in defeat. Snart chuckled, low and deliciously menacing. Barry shivered at the sound. If he couldn’t coerce the man to speed things along, he might as well enjoy the ride—Snart’s fingers inside him, cock against his thigh, lips kissing everywhere they could touch. 

The torture was so awful/wonderful reversed like this. Barry felt like the edge was always out of reach, like a mirage in the desert, that he could grasp if only he went a little further, waited a little longer, but then it was gone, leaving him thirsting and delirious for release. 

The slow twist of Snart’s fingers, the tickle of his breath against Barry’s skin; he was ever in Barry’s space, free hand kneading his back as he kept him upright, lips pressing to his cheek, tongue darting along his ear, down his neck, _sucking_. 

No one had ever given Barry such full attention, made it all about him. That was one thing Barry could never deny about Snart. He always gave Barry his entire focus, like an obsession, and never once took for granted what Barry could do, how Barry could turn on him in a moment, hand him over to the police, but no. They had their deal. And even that was Snart following Barry’s whims, wasn’t it? 

Snart was the only one who never asked anything of Barry. Which seemed so insane because he’d _blackmailed_ him. Their deal was based around extortion, and yet…it didn’t feel that way. Snart was just being Snart, playing his hand. What he asked of Barry was so he could protect himself, but he never pushed for more, never tried to twist their deal into asking Barry to…steal for him, or compromise himself. He hadn’t asked for this sexual turn on their relationship, even though he’d wanted it. He rarely initiated their encounters at all; it was almost always Barry who called or texted and insisted they meet. Snart let Barry lead, let him feel powerful and wanted, even now when Barry was the one moaning filth and obscenities beneath Snart’s touch. 

That’s what made Snart so dangerous, because he almost, almost made Barry believe he was something better than what he was. But Barry could never forget that this man, at his core, was a wolf in disguise. An appealing wolf, so appealing, who used sweet words and promises, but whose teeth were sharp. Barry’s were sharp too. And maybe that was the crux of it all, that they could bare their teeth at each other, show their true natures, and still want more. 

Snart’s fingers finally retracted, leaving Barry a mess of ignited nerve endings, trembling and gasping for breath. Snart’s dick dragged up along Barry’s entrance again, an insistent push that Barry wanted to take inside him right that moment. He whimpered again, but didn’t beg. He waited.

“Okay, Barry,” Snart whispered. “Get us on the bed.”

All it took was one deep breath. They came out of Barry’s whirlwind with Barry laid out on the comforter and Snart above him. Barry’s remaining clothing was easily removed along the way, though Snart still wore his Henley, which shouldn’t have been so sexy, but on its own, reaching just low enough to brush the man’s weeping erection, it was the sexiest sight Barry had ever seen. 

Snart grinned at him. “Should I start with my tongue?”

“ _No_ ,” Barry shook his head. “Hot as that sounds—like really, seriously hot—I need your cock in me _now_. Next time?” he added with a promising bite at his lower lip.

“Deal.”

Snart reached over to the nightstand to retrieve the needed supplies, which Barry was thankful for even though he’d nearly pleaded to be ridden bare. Snart didn’t pause to remove his shirt, which Barry didn’t mind really, but he wondered about it. Barry had undressed Snart the first time they had sex. All the other times they’d been together, Snart always remained clothed above the waist. 

_Probably the scars_ , Barry thought, but pushed that trail of thinking aside. Now was not the time to wonder about that. He already had a good idea where most of them had come from. And besides, Barry didn’t care about scars, why would he, even if all of his own were gone? 

He tried to say that without saying it, ran his hands up beneath Snart’s shirt from naval to collarbone, feeling the scar tissue as he went. 

Snart smiled at him more…tenderly, Barry thought, but he still set to work without removing his shirt. 

When he first pressed forward, Barry rocked back impatiently and spread his legs wider. Snart was so warm. And so— _shit_ —big. Barry clenched his eyes shut as he willed his body to adapt. It’s what his body was best at now, ever since the lightning—adapting—even if it had been a long time for Barry other than his own fingers and a few very well-hidden toys in his bedroom. 

Snart pushed in further, past the grooves of his head, maybe only an inch in total, but it felt like so much more. 

“Wait…” Barry clutched Snart’s forearm to stop him, and the man instantly stilled, his pupils blown but eyes keenly trained on Barry’s face. “It’s just…it’s so…urg, gimme a minute,” Barry said in frustration, taking long, deep breaths, because shit, it was too much, even with how prepared he’d been. 

Snart pulled back but not completely, just to the edges of his head, which still stretched Barry somewhat but allowed him a moment to rest. “More than you can handle, Scarlet?” Snart teased him, even as he started to pull out further.

“ _No_ ,” Barry squeezed Snart’s arm again, eyes peering up at him with naked need, because he did not want Snart to pull out fully; he needed this, wanted this. Snart’s subtle smirk spurred him on. “You are such a dick sometimes.”

Snart chuckled, tilted his head at Barry’s apt choice of words, and opened his mouth to comment.

“Don’t you _dare_ make a dick pun right now, or I swear—”

“You’ll what?” Snart cut him off. He stayed where he was, just barely breaching Barry’s entrance. He ran both hands up the back of Barry’s thighs, even with Barry gripping his arm like a lifeline. “Relax, Barry. I finally have you right where I want you. The last thing I want is to rush.”

He settled his hands beneath Barry’s knees and leaned down as if to capture a kiss, but he couldn’t reach Barry’s lips without pushing back inside him. Snart’s descent was so…slow, and so tempting with how much Barry wanted to kiss him. The tentative pace opened Barry up, gave him the time he needed to adjust, and it was…

“ _Oh god_ …”

…so good as Snart finally filled him. His icy blue eyes watched Barry for signs of dissent every step of the way, not drifting closed until their mouths met. 

Barry moaned into the kiss. He wrapped his legs around Snart’s waist like he had on the desk, and pulled him in deeper. The fresh moan that tore from his lips as Snart buried in up to the hilt made Barry gasp away. He needed to let the sounds out of him, but he wanted to kiss too, to connect in whatever ways he could. He settled on tonguing the corner of Snart’s mouth while plaintive noises left him at a steady stream, and his hands found their way to the back of Snart’s head, holding him close.

Snart pulled just slightly back for the first stroke home; Barry wasn’t prepared. The slickness of the lube was more than enough, but every inch of Barry’s insides felt the stimulation and he thought he might lose his mind. He knew he was more sensitive than he’d been before the lightning, his cells always regenerating, always new, but he never expected this.

Snart meant to pay Barry back in full for last time because he moved so _slowly_ , pulling nearly all the way out before sliding in again, making sure that Barry felt the drag over his prostate with every inch. Barry pulled insistently with his heels at Snart’s back to bring him closer.

Now that Barry was relaxed and open, Snart started to pick up the pace, but no…no. Barry wanted the torture. He wanted to be so overrun with sensation, he wouldn’t be able to think straight the rest of the day. 

“Not yet. _Slower_ ,” Barry echoed their first night in the apartment, as he kneaded the back of Snart’s neck with his fingers. He waited for Snart to slow down like before. “Yeah…like that. Don’t stop. _Never_ stop…”

Snart chuckled darkly. Barry knew they couldn’t keep this pace forever, both would need to speed up soon, but for as long as they could manage it, he wanted to delay the inevitable. 

A particularly deep thrust had Barry’s head pressing back into the mattress. “ _Snart_ …”

“ _Len_ ,” Snart corrected him fondly. 

Barry laughed. “Len…sorry,” he laughed again, because he couldn’t help it. He liked the way Snart’s name sounded on his tongue though. He focused his eyes on the stunning, flushed man above him, and held his face in his hands again. “Len…”

The air escaped Barry’s lips as he gasped at another sharp thrust. Little by little their pace picked up again, and this time Barry allowed it. Faster. _Faster._ Harder. And Barry begged for every change in force and tempo. When they were close, he knew he and Snart were nearly there together, because he could feel the edge approaching but also hear it in the catch to Snart’s breaths. 

Barry panted, and whimpered, and pleaded with a litany of Snart’s name, “Len…please… come with me…I need to come, please let me come…”

“ _Fuck_ , kid,” Snart huffed. With Barry moaning praises in his ear, Snart sounded halfway mad too. “Your voice…I could listen to it like this all night. Barry…”

Barry struggled to look Snart in the eyes as he rode out their steady rhythm. 

“Use your speed. _Now_.” 

“Where…?”

“Everywhere.” 

A thrill shot through Barry at the command. His body naturally wanted to hum in the throes of his pleasure. So he let it. Let himself pulse and vibrate, every inch of skin, from his hands to his cock trapped against Snart’s shirt-clad stomach, and into the tight walls surrounding Snart in turn. 

Snart moaned with Barry, and being already so close to the edge, he came in seconds. Barry came soon after without even being touched. Neither spoke as they breathed heavily in the aftermath. Neither could form coherent words for the first several minutes. Barry only loosely registered when they pulled apart and Snart tossed the condom over the side of the bed into the trash, leaving him feeling empty again but so, so content. 

They lay there, side by side, and Barry stared up at the ceiling, wishing, if only for a moment, that he could stay like this, in a beautiful, sex-induced haze, and never have to be The Flash again. 

XXXXX

Len should cut his losses. Now. Let it just be sex. Enjoy the remarkable orgasms this man gave him like no one else ever had, and leave it at that. But he had to know. He was compelled to know everything he could about his…adversary.

“Quid pro quo, Barry,” Len said softly at the ceiling, not even turning his head.

“Yeah?” Barry said. “Shoot.”

“What’s the real reason you ditched work to see me?”

Silence filled the air between them, and little by little it shifted into something charged. If this was just sex, then Len shouldn’t care. But he had to know why Barry sought him out like someone drowning in the middle of the ocean.

“I…I just…” Barry started to speak but faded out. When Len glanced at him, Barry had an arm draped over his eyes as if to hide. “I told you it’s been stressful lately.”

“This is more than stress.” Len should know. He was intimately familiar with being broken.

Barry peeked at him from beneath his arm. “What do you care? You’re just looking for angles, right? Your next opportunity to get the upper hand?”

Len stared. He wasn’t used to Barry being this…cold. “Thought I just had the upper hand. You complaining ‘bout how that turned out?”

Barry laughed humorlessly. “No complaints.” He dropped his arm but returned his attention to the ceiling.

“Barry…”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I came here so I wouldn’t have to _talk_ about it.” Sharp, punched words. This was Barry at his most honest, open and angry. Len didn’t know what to do with that information. He was right about the darkness in the kid, but he was hardly qualified to fix it, to fix anyone.

“Then don’t,” he said, remaining neutral when Barry looked at him again. “I told you, Barry. You don’t owe me anything.”

The frown in Barry’s brow smoothed out with a wave of emotion. Moisture filled his eyes like a switch had been flipped, like all he’d been waiting for, for days, weeks, was to hear someone finally say those words to him. 

“I can’t… _breathe_ ,” he said, and Len knew he didn’t mean that literally, but he understood, he knew exactly how Barry felt as the kid’s eyes went distant and he rushed on, “Sometimes I feel so _angry_ , I want to destroy everything around me. Sometimes I don’t feel anything. I’m just...numb. And my powers can’t fix what’s wrong with me, not this time. You’re the only thing…” His eyes centered on Len’s face, and all at once he seemed to realize how much he was saying and who he was saying it to.

Tears trickled down his cheeks.

Barry turned back to the ceiling with a grimace. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine,” he said like a challenge, though whether he was trying to convince Len or himself was unclear.

Either way Len knew it wasn’t the truth. And he shouldn’t care. Barry was right; _he shouldn’t care_. But he did. “Then why are you crying?”

Barry whirled on Len with a snarl, and he tensed to be hit— _no_. This was Barry. They weren’t fighting. They weren’t in costume. Len didn’t have to throw his guards up when it was _Barry_ looking back at him instead of The Flash. 

So he stood his ground. And waited. Barry’s face was a twisted, angry sneer, but he didn’t reach for Len, didn’t do anything but gasp for breath and look at him like he wanted to scream until his seams unraveled and all that fury drained away. 

It did drain, eventually. Tears still on his face, Barry’s expression crumbled into one of anguish instead. He looked ready to run, to escape this unexpected confrontation that he’d brought upon himself. 

Len rolled onto his side to better face Barry, keeping his movements as measured and calculated as he had with the young robber in Rashid’s shop. He didn’t want to spook Barry; he didn’t want him to run. He cupped Barry’s face in his palm and pulled him closer for a kiss. Slow. Sweet.

What the hell was Len doing…? He _should_ be working out angles, like Barry had said, looking for his opening, for a chance to turn this insanity to his advantage. And when it came to heists and keeping out of jail, he’d do that, he’d do whatever he had to…but to The Flash, not to Barry. Maybe that was the compromise that fixed this. It didn’t have to be personal, it should never be personal. The Flash was business, but Barry…Barry was something else, and Len was already in far too deep. 

A moment of just their lips pressed together passed before Barry started to kiss him back, like he was too stunned to move. When they parted, he whispered, “You make it easier…” but then his eyes widened and he pulled back like he’d surprised himself with his honesty. 

Len couldn’t betray his indecision, his doubt that what they were doing was the right course. Disaster loomed over them every step of the way, but Len couldn’t call it quits yet either, couldn’t let go of something that made him feel like only a perfect heist had ever made him feel before.

So he tried to portray that he had everything under control, summoning the confidence that had kindled Barry’s passion in the convenience store. He kissed Barry again, and felt the kid’s hesitation. There was more Barry hadn’t told him, but it didn’t matter. Right now all Len cared about was this moment, high on endorphins, sweaty and dirty and spent. The heist didn’t matter. Dunkirk didn’t matter. Only Barry.

“Len…”

Barry’s stomach grumbled before he could finish what he’d meant to say, and they laughed out of their embrace. The ease in the sound that left Barry made Len certain that this time the laughter was real. 

“It’s a little early for dinner,” Len said, smoothing his thumb along Barry’s cheekbone and glancing down his white-stained chest, “but I’m guessing you could use a snack.”

Barry chuckled with a flush of embarrassment, and _there_ —there was the Barry Allen that Len was used to. He still existed beneath the darkness. Len could coax him out again. 

Barry’s eyes brightened. “Bulgogi?” 

The kid’s one-track mind never failed to amuse Len. And after all, the leftovers had gone a little too long without being refrigerated or reheated, so someone better eat them, while they currently rested in a heap on Len’s living room floor. “You can have some,” he said.

Barry grinned boyish and wide before rolling out of bed with a triumphant flourish. Faster than Len could follow, he saw the bathroom light flicker on and off, a blur of clothing, and then Barry stood before him off the side of the bed, clean and dressed, with the tears wiped almost fully from his face. But Len saw one, a stubborn drop of moisture in the corner of Barry’s eye that slipped free and froze on his cheek. 

Len sat up and gestured Barry closer before the speedster could make for the kitchen. Barry expected a kiss, so Len gave him one, but he also brushed his thumb over that stray tear. Barry’s smile faltered in the wake of the attention, his sadness showing through again, so potent and deep in the moments when he didn’t try to hide it. 

“I suppose asking you to wait for me is like slow torture,” Len said.

Barry rolled his eyes with a quirk to his lips. “Pretty sure we already accomplished that kink for one day.” 

Len laughed, and gestured toward the stairs. “Go on.”

Barry flashed away, followed by the sounds of him in the kitchen, putting the bags of unnecessary gifts away, and shoving the bulgogi into the microwave; one thing Barry couldn’t rush. 

Len’s shirt was stained from Barry’s release, which made him smirk to himself as he tore it over his head and tossed it into his hamper. He knew it was silly to keep his shirt on during sex with Barry; he’d already seen, he knew. Next time Len would try to break the habit. 

His shorts and slacks were down by his desk, calling for a whole new outfit. He grabbed a fresh pair of pants and…huh. He’d forgotten about that shirt, buried in the back of his closet, one Lisa had bought him to ‘brighten up’ his wardrobe. It was blue, but not navy like he was accustomed to. Instead it was a jewel-toned teal—cerulean. 

Now _that_ would look good on Barry…with nothing else. 

Len put it on, leaving it untucked and the first couple buttons undone. Barry enjoyed his casual side. He could polish up his look after Barry left. 

Len paused to pick up his pants and underwear when he reached the foot of the stairs but saw that they had already been folded and set on his desk chair. Barry had hung up their coats as well, and their shoes were lined up in front of the door. Len’s mouth twitched with a fond smile. 

He crossed to where Barry had claimed his usual— _usual_ —seat at the kitchen island, with a healthy helping of bulgogi on a plate, and an extra fork set aside for Len while Barry took a glutinous bite. He hummed and licked his lips.

“Want some?”

Mick and Lisa were never going to let him live this down…

Len sat in the stool next to Barry, picked up the extra fork, and speared a piece of meat. It was as delicious as Mrs. Pak’s cooking always was. 

He caught Barry eyeing the bright teal shirt appreciatively, and decided to take this whole encounter as another win. After all, he did finally get to bend the Scarlet Speedster in half. 

XXXXX

Barry ate ravenously, though at normal speeds. Snart never seemed to mind that Barry kept eating his food, and needed food at all hours. Sex just made him hungrier than usual, especially when it involved expelling as much energy as they just had. 

But as delicious as the bulgogi was, it settled heavily in Barry’s stomach. He hadn’t meant to confess all of that. To get flustered and teary-eyed in front of Snart. The whole point was to get Snart to want him, to care for him, love him. The way Snart had reacted upstairs, he… That’s what Barry wanted, wasn’t it? This was how he got Snart to fall for him so he could break his heart, make him pay, make _someone_ pay for everything Barry had been going through. 

Because Snart deserved it… Didn’t he?

“Barry…?”

Snart’s voice made Barry realize he’d been staring at his next bite of food for almost a minute. He set it down. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “Sometimes even I do things too fast,” he said, pulling on a smile that he doubted Snart bought anymore, if the man ever had. “I’m full.”

Snart nodded with an indulgent expression. He wouldn’t push. He never pushed Barry. But he’d fight him, and shoot at him, and show his true colors again soon enough. Barry couldn’t forget that. Once Snart donned his Captain Cold gear again, everything would return to normal, and Barry would remember why Snart was the one he’d targeted, why Snart was the perfect victim to feel his wrath and get broken into fragments. 

Because he’d betrayed Barry. And hurt him. Hurt others. He was a criminal. A liar. A _villain_. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Snart said, and followed Barry to the door. 

He kissed Barry goodbye. Smirked at him as Barry backed out across the threshold. And promised they’d see each other again real soon. 

Snart was falling for Barry all right, just like he wanted. And Barry was going to enjoy breaking his heart. 

He had to.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not prepared for Len to push Barry and get him to open up a little already. That will continue to happen, and things will continue to escalate. Their next sexual encounter will be a bit...different, to say the least. But much more plot to come in the meantime!
> 
> Thank you again. I mean it when I say that every new comment is really what spurs me to write more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's stealth suit isn't ready in time for his first face-off against Scudder, which has more repercussions than Barry would like, while Len prepares for some of the final stages to his upcoming heist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned! And hopefully won't have any more long breaks like that any time soon.

“Slow down again, Barry!” Cisco called from the other room. 

Barry reduced his pace on the treadmill from Flash speed to Barry speed. Instantly, what had been a sparking, obvious trail returned to The Invisible Man. If Cisco couldn’t keep ‘The Invisible Man’ for Scudder then he damn well wanted to keep the name for something, and thus he had dubbed Barry’s new stealth suit. 

Or at least it would have been a stealth suit—if Barry never used his powers. 

He held onto the guard rails of the treadmill as he slowed to a complete stop. The mask covered his entire face, like it had with Cisco, but Barry could see clearly through the diamond-shaped goggles now built into it. He also wasn’t hindered when he spoke, though the warmth of the air when he breathed against the fabric made the mouth of the mask feel hot and damp. He definitely preferred his normal mask. 

The suit overall should have felt stiffer with the reflectors built in, but one of the benefits of the ‘tiny little mirrors’ as Cisco called them, was that the individual pieces had more fluidity than tripolymer. If only the stealth portion would work as intended. 

“What’s up, Cisco? We’ve been testing for almost an hour like this and nothing’s changed. If I can’t use the suit with my speed, what’s the point?”

Cisco narrowed his eyes at Barry through the glass where he was working at one of the consoles. “Dude, can you shut the suit down when you talk to me? You’re still invisible standing still. It’s creepy.” He shuddered before averting his attention to the screen in front of him. 

A flare of annoyance spiked through Barry at having his question ignored, but the chance to be devious banished his frustration. Being careful not to use his powers, he stepped from the treadmill and exited the room into the cortex. 

Cisco remained fixated on the screen, but after a moment, as Barry snuck closer and closer to him, the engineer darted his eyes from side to side in suspicion. “Barry?” he said, since Barry hadn’t answered him. “Barry Allen, I swear, if you jump scare me right now—”

“You’ll what?” Barry whispered from only a foot away. 

“Ah!” Cisco flailed spectacularly as he turned to face the disembodied voice of his friend. He pointed an accusing finger in the general direction of Barry’s face. “I will karate chop every inch of space in front of me, man.” He made a few full-hearted but sloppy chopping motions at the air, but struck nowhere near Barry. 

Barry laughed, but to save his friend from further embarrassment, he pressed the button on top of his hand between his thumb and left index finger. Cisco had a kill switch on the console too, but he hadn’t thought to use it. 

The reflectors flickered and became visible again, revealing Barry in the all black, skin-tight glove of a suit that shimmered as if he was covered in sequins. He’d joked that it was his Hollywood Starlit outfit rather than The Invisible Man. It had no discernable seams or lines, just sleek black with a pair of bug-eyed goggles.

“Don’t DO that.” Cisco smacked Barry in the chest. “I can still take away all of your toys, ya know.”

Barry snickered as he pulled off the mask. “Can but won’t, and you know it.” 

It was a relief to be able to joke so effortlessly again. The last couple of days had been almost normal for Barry. Even after he left Snart’s apartment, he’d managed to keep his spirits up, despite no further progress on Scudder. 

Friday night patrol had been another bust, but Barry held onto the hope that Saturday would be different. It wasn’t. So he held out for Sunday, when he normally wouldn’t have even bothered patrolling. Still nothing. The only saving grace was that he hadn’t gotten in trouble for ditching work Friday. No one had even noticed he left early. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want something new to offer Singh come Monday.

So Monday morning he’d worked his ass off on a new program he’d been working on to track meta human activity, and mapped out all of the recent Scudder sightings, with his heist locations, and any areas that had reported incidents of theft with similarities to the cases at Mercury Labs and the glassworks. Despite the randomness of most of the locations around the city, there was a definite grouping near a particular street west of downtown. 

Barry had showed the program to Singh when he appeared in the labs looking for some sort of breakthrough in the case, and while it wasn’t evidence to help put Scudder away, Barry had significantly narrowed their search area. 

“Good work, Allen,” Singh had said. 

Barry could count on one hand the number of times he’d received praise from the captain, so he considered the day a success. He also had a new focus for his Flash patrol that night. Which was why the stealth suit would have been useful. 

“Sorry, Barry, I don’t think I’ll have the bugs worked out for tonight’s patrol,” Cisco said as he returned his attention to the readings on the screen. “The reflectors are not fans of the speed force. I need to figure out how to keep your natural electromagnetic waves from interfering with the sensors. Otherwise, Scudder will see you coming the second you use your powers.”

Barry sighed as he hopped up onto the desk next to Cisco’s console. He was half tempted to just use the suit as is, try to catch Scudder without using his powers, since invisibility might be a more effective tool in this case, but he knew it would be better to not show his hand and give away his best ace in the hole before it was ready. 

“Anything else you need from me to help work out the kinks?” Barry asked. “I should hit the streets soon. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch Scudder without going invisible.” Barry doubted it, but then his luck had finally started to turn around the last couple of days. For the first time in a long time, he felt like his old self again. 

He refused to believe that it had anything to do with confessing to Snart about how he’d been feeling, or the man’s reaction to it all, rather than just fulfilling sex and a plan to one-up one of the most dangerous criminals he’d ever faced. 

A dangerous criminal who watched over his neighborhood like a den mother. Who protected his sister with the same fierceness that Barry would use to protect any of his friends. Who offered Barry food. Gave into his whims. Never pushed for more than Barry could give in return. And brushed away his tears…

Barry shook his head as he focused on Cisco’s response. It was just an act. Just the long game. Always the long game. Snart spent six months on his heists. Of course he wouldn’t do anything to spoil the good time he and Barry were having after only a couple of weeks. But eventually he’d slip up, show his true nature, and when he did, Barry would have no problem scattering the pieces of his heart like confetti. 

“Go ahead and swap suits,” Cisco said. “I have everything I need to work this out. Just might take a couple days to pin things down. And seriously, man, good luck. If Scudder’s anything like Peek-A-Boo and you run into him out there, just try to wear him out.”

“And if he bails the second he sees me?”

Cisco shrugged. “Seems he wants the attention, right? Made it easy to figure out who he is. Left a calling card, even. He wants fame just like the rest of our near and dear Rogues gallery. He’ll probably jump at the chance to face off against The Flash.”

Barry huffed. “Here’s hoping.” He jumped off the desk and zipped away to change, returning moments later in his normal Flash suit. He set the pile of black fabric on the desk for Cisco to work his magic. 

“I’ll call Caitlin up from downstairs to run the comms for you so I can focus on this,” Cisco said without looking away from the console. 

Barry squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “You know, you two need time off occasionally too. I am capable of patrolling the city without a babysitter every night.”

Cisco paused in his work to eye Barry skeptically, though the quirk to his mouth proved how much he appreciated the gesture. “Do I have to give you the whole Team Flash speech again? Because I got that thing memorized, man, I can go all Lawrence Olivier on your ass and wax Shakespeare until it sinks in.”

Barry laughed as he held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, please don’t. But you can’t spend so much time catering to me without me wanting to return the favor. We’re on for another gaming night this week, right? I don’t care where we end up with Scudder by then, we’re taking Thursday night off.”

Cisco beamed back at Barry with something like pride and bubbling excitement. “Hell yeah, man, deal. Wow, so getting laid agrees with you, huh?” He bobbed his eyebrows suggestively. 

Barry averted his gaze as his grin and blush spread across his cheeks. He hadn’t exactly tried to hide it on Friday that he’d had an _eventful_ afternoon. And after all, this was exactly what Cisco had suggested for him to do. 

“Come on, you gotta give me _some_ details,” Cisco said. “Well not detail details—please don’t give me _details_ —but something. Succession of one night stands from the club or same girl? Or same…guy?” He eyed Barry for a reaction. Barry must have given himself away somehow because Cisco almost immediately said, “Same guy. Wow. So, like, who’s your type when it comes to guys? On a scale of NPH to Nathan Fillion.”

A laugh sputtered out of Barry, because really? Though it was a little funny that Cisco’s first thought had gone to Dr. Horrible, which in a strange way was kind of close to the truth. “Same guy, but not someone who’s going to be long-term, okay, so I’d rather not say much. He’s hot, amazing in bed, and discreet. More discreet than me most of the time…” Considering Barry had showed up where Snart lives and met most of the people in his neighborhood. 

“Fair enough,” Cisco said and nudged Barry’s shoulder. “Hey, man, enjoy yourself, okay? We’re young and healthy, and some of us are beautiful at least.” He flipped his long, wavy hair over one shoulder dramatically. 

Barry chuckled, because enjoying himself was exactly what he planned to do. Even when things in his day to day life seemed to be going well, all he could think about was the next time he’d get to feel Snart’s mouth and hands on him. He definitely needed to see the Rogue again soon. “Well we can’t all be as lucky as you, Cisco,” Barry joked as he pulled up his cowl. “In the meantime, I better get to work. I’ll let you know if I get lucky.” 

Cisco snorted.

“With _Scudder_.”

“Sure, sure.”

The smile remained plastered to Barry’s face even as he flashed from the cortex. Finally— _finally_ —he felt like his life was on an upswing.

XXXXX

Hartley didn’t disappoint, not that Len ever expected him to. The young genius in hiding had called to declare that Len and Mick’s guns were both ready to be picked up—and tested out if they were so inclined, which Len always was. He never went into a heist with tech or plans that hadn’t been thoroughly vetted to avoid unnecessary hiccups. Besides, he'd been getting sick of carrying around a decoy. 

With Mick in tow, Len walked into the back of Andrews’ Electronics after a brief greeting to Arty, expecting to find Hartley hard at work on something for the electronics store’s ‘side’ business, but instead came upon him at a worktable tinkering with what appeared to be a hearing aid. And not anything quite as advanced as his own hearing aids, or Len wouldn’t have thought much of it. 

“Looking to patent something for the hearing impaired next, Hartley?” Len asked as he and Mick approached. 

As per usual, Hartley didn’t bother glancing up from his work. “Actually, yes, but this is a one-off for Arty’s grandmother. She came in last week needing her toaster fixed, and I caught sight of this eyesore. Couldn’t stand to see her wearing something so obsolete for another minute when I knew I could do better. She has a backup for the time being, but after today, Nana Andrews is getting an upgrade.”

Mick scoffed, but his face showed only amusement. “Hearing aids for little old ladies now? You going straight on us, kid?”

Hartley raised an eyebrow at Mick unimpressed. “Not in any sense of the word, Mick. Keeping Nana Andrews happy keeps Mr. Andrews happy, which—”

“Keeps Arty happy?” Len leaned forward on the worktable like he was all a twitter for gossip. He knew the expectant look would annoy Hartley, and it did in spades. 

The kid sighed as he set his tools and the hearing aid aside. “Careful, Cold. Start in on my love life, and I just might start in on yours.”

Len pulled back with a grimace.

“Heh,” Mick chortled. “You know too, huh?”

“About his hickey happy lover and how much Lisa wants to find out the guy’s identity?” Hartley said. “Oh yes.”

Mick glanced at Len like he knew a dirty little secret, which of course he did. “Does he know who—?”

“No,” Len cut Mick off firmly. 

“Wait, you know who it is?” Hartley perked up, turning to lean across the table toward Mick as if Len was no longer present. 

Mick opened his mouth with a wide grin. 

“ _No_ ,” Len said again, giving Mick his best warning glare that there would be serious consequences if he defied him on this. He could see on Mick’s face that he was debating telling Hartley anyway. Len hardened his eyes further at his old friend and shook his head. Having Mick know was one thing, but any more than that and it could all unravel only too quickly. 

After fifteen solid seconds of making Len sweat, Mick rolled his eyes and gave Hartley an apologetic shrug. “Guess I don’t know shit. Sorry, kid.”

Hartley didn’t try to hide his disappointment, and offered his own melodramatic eye-roll when Len stared back at him unwilling to budge. “Fine. Better get to the main event then if I don’t get any pre-show. Follow me, gentlemen.” 

He stood up from his chair and led them further into the back past another curtain. Len had never been so deep into the shop before, and had always assumed the last hidden area was reserved for more volatile equipment. He wasn’t exactly wrong. The cold and heat guns he saw on a table, waiting for them, as well as—surprisingly enough—a vase of flowers. But in the corner was what looked to be…well. Len couldn’t help himself, because the only thing that sprang to mind was—

“If you’re expecting me to say ‘Beam me up, Scotty’, I’m sorry to say I’m a little attached to my molecules staying right where they are.”

Hartley shot Len a look between aggravated and impressed, which tended to be the kid’s default face when it came to him. Len didn’t mind, as long as the impressed part remained true. “Not a transporter, Captain. Or something out of the Goldblum version of _The Fly_. It just looks like that because I had to build something that would be insulted against both heat and cold. Kind of difficult to test out intense waves of temperature without messing up something in the shop unless I have a containment field.

“Keep hold of your gun and you’ll stay safe in the eye of the storm; stay put in the containment box and I won’t have to worry about freezer burn. So.” He looked between them. “Who wants to go first?”

“Me,” Len said before Mick could offer. He snatched up his gun from the table. It didn’t look any different than he was used to, but there was a slight alteration in weight that he noticed immediately. 

“I did ask you to bring your gloves,” Hartley said.

Len obliged and took the gloves out of his jacket pocket, putting them on before he headed toward the containment box. “But not the rest of our gear,” he reminded Hartley. 

“I have new sets of goggles for you both for the occasion. The rest shouldn’t be needed for this since the field projects away from you.” 

“Shouldn’t?”

Hartley handed Len a pair of goggles from a hook around the side of the box that looked nearly identical to his old ones. “Notice the lack of a door,” he said indicating the narrow slit that Len had used to slip inside. “Electromagnetic waves are more effective than plastic.” He knocked on the clear containment wall. “This is just backup.”

Len tilted his head after securing the goggles over his eyes. “Aren’t electromagnetic waves part of The Flash’s powers?”

“Won’t matter if you hit him first and he can’t use his speed. And he will not see this coming. Button above the trigger when you’re ready,” Hartley nodded at the gun then pressed a button of his own on the side of the box, surrounding Len with a quiet hum.

Len gently felt above the familiar trigger and nodded as he detected a small switch. Perfect location to stay hidden. At a glance, Flash wouldn’t notice anything different about the gun until he felt the first blast of the cold wave. Len flipped the switch.

Instantly he felt the change in his hands though nothing erupted from the end of the gun. The subtle cold thrill through his palms and up his arms that he so loved was the same as ever, but that was all. Len didn’t feel cold anywhere else on his body. But he could see it.

Through the new goggles, he saw a projection like a computer generated overlay, ice blue and swirling like mist, reaching only as far as the edges of the containment box. It surrounded him in a perfect circle. 

With one hand holding the gun, Len reached the other slowly toward the ring of cold, stopping when he felt a definite drop in temperature. He pulled his hand back, and grinned at Hartley through the glass.

“Just you wait,” Hartley said, as he strode over to the table with the heat gun and pulled a long-stemmed violet-colored flower from the vase. 

“I can’t see shit,” Mick complained with a frown.

“I can,” Len said. He touched his free hand to the goggles. “Augmented reality?”

“For now it’ll only show you the radius of the cold field,” Hartley said then tilted his head slightly, “and the weather report if you adjust the right lens to the left.”

Len did so, and on the edges of the goggles he could see the temperature displayed along with a brief description of the weather outside. He snorted.

“Eventually,” Hartley spoke on, “I can add distance tracking, maps, whatever you want, but for now the features are minimal. Now watch.” He stood before the slit in the containment box again and held out the flower until it passed into the path of the cold field. Only Len could see the swirling blur, but all of them watched as the flower began to stiffen and build with frost.

 _Yasss_ , Len thought with a mental cheer. “Oh Hartley, you deserve a special bonus for this.”

“Does that mean I can name my price?” 

“Within reason.” 

Hartley smirked in self-satisfaction as he pulled the flower back. “There’s a thin dial above the switch. Left pushes the radius further out, right brings it in. It’ll never get closer to you than where it is now, but the outward radius should be able to reach a full city block.”

Len felt for the dial. He tested it and watched the circle of cold press against the containment box, unable to escape, then dialed it in and saw how it bowed toward him without getting closer. He couldn’t wait to see how The Flash dealt with his new upgrade.

But for some reason that thought brought with it a sudden frown that Len couldn’t banish. He flipped the switch off and exited the chamber. “The strength of the field is still lower than the lowest blast setting, right?”

Hartley nodded. “You could give a normal person some serious frost bite if untreated for too long, but the Scarlet Speedster should be slowed more than injured. Non-lethal just like you asked for. With Mick’s gun too.” He gestured for Mick to take Len’s place and handed the pyro his own pair of goggles.

Len tried to shake off the relief he felt at knowing that the gun wouldn’t hurt his nemesis, but his emotions remained tangled, spoiling his good mood. 

Mick went through the same process that Len had, and grinned wildly at the augmented reality, especially when Hartley held the frozen flower inside the box again and it wilted like melting wax. 

“You’ll also be able to see each other’s radius bubbles so you don’t accidentally...well, for lack of a better term…cross streams.” He looked far too annoyed with himself for making such an obvious reference. Len couldn’t help thinking that Cisco Ramon would have been proud, which was likely why it made Hartley cringe.

“Noted,” Len said. “What happens if they do cross?”

“Depends on several variables,” Hartley shrugged. “Most likely it’ll create mist or a light snow. Worst case scenario there might be a slight…explosion.”

Len’s eyes widened, while Mick chuckled in excitement as he exited the containment box. “Don’t cross the cold and heat fields. Got it,” Len said.

“And here are the comms you requested.” Hartley pulled a set of three ear pieces from a drawer in the table, handing one to Mick and two to Len for himself and one to hang onto for Lisa. “Additional microphones are built into the goggles. So,” he leaned back against the table as Len and Mick inspected their gear, “do I get to listen in like Ramon does with The Flash?”

Len humored him with a smile. “Do I get to know where those flowers came from? Or do you always use camellias when field testing?”

Hartley crossed his arms, lips pursed and unrelenting. “Nana Andrews. Don’t change the subject.”

Considering the good work the kid had done, Len decided not to push—for now. “Apologies, Hart, but not this time. There may come a day when we’ll need you. Can we set these up to signal you if necessary?”

“Already done,” Hartley nodded.

Of course it was. Len glanced at Mick, who even with the ear piece that he hadn’t been too keen on originally, looked like a thief in a bank vault—positively gleeful. When Len’s crew was happy, he was happy. “Let’s talk about that bonus, Hart. You earned it.”

XXXXX

Patrol was slow, but Barry didn’t mind as much as he expected. At least Scudder hadn’t hit any new targets yet. There was time. And if the meta did hit somewhere soon, well, that was just new data to analyze on the path to catching him.

Barry finished another pass of the street he’d pinpointed as the most likely location for Scudder to surface. For the most part he avoided the uniforms on patrol, though he occasionally waved to the plainclothes officers he noticed while he zipped around, doing his best to stay hidden even as he kept an eye out for Scudder. It was almost pleasant, aside from the scenery growing stale.

“You should head home, Caitlin,” Barry said over the comms, stopping in a narrow alley barely wide enough to fit through, but which kept him out of sight from the street. “I’ll give it another half hour then do the same. There’s always tomorrow, right?”

It was late, he was tired, and he knew that his fragile sense of being okay was on a razor’s edge. As long as he stayed positive, got enough sleep, and found time to see Snart later in the week, Scudder avoiding capture was not going to keep him down. 

“Are you sure, Barry?” Caitlin called back. “Cisco’s still working on the suit. I don’t mind staying a little longer in case you get lucky.”

Barry couldn’t actually hear Cisco, but he imagined the engineer breaking into a snicker at Caitlin using that particular wording. “Okay, but only until…” He trailed as something caught the corner of his eye. 

There’d been a flicker of…well, _something_. He knew what the reflection of light on his city looked like—he ran at such speeds that he couldn’t afford to be blinded by a stray ray of sunshine or a car’s headlights—but that wasn’t what he’d seen. 

“Hang on a minute. I might have something.”

“Be careful, Barry.”

Slowly, Barry peeked his head out into the adjoining alleyway. He couldn’t be sure which direction he’d seen that flicker, so he instinctively looked left first. 

“No…not yet,” a voice hissed from behind him. 

Barry whipped around, taking in the sight of a nicely dressed man backing away from him who looked like he wasn’t quite at home wearing something so finely tailored, like maybe he was used to humbler means until very, very recently. Barry recognized the man’s face immediately. 

_Scudder._

He praised his luck for all of two seconds, before he reminded himself that it had taken days and a lot of hard work to narrow down where to look to a small enough area that a chance encounter like this was even possible. No Flash fan would ever believe just how much simple forensic science and computer programming helped the Scarlet Speedster catch his villains. 

Barry flinched forward but held back from speeding toward the thief. If he spooked Scudder, he could ruin his chance entirely. He had to keep the man occupied, catch him off guard somehow, since the element of surprise was already lost. So Barry held out his hands in placation as he exited the alley fully. 

“I just want to talk, Scudder. Been looking for you. You’re a hard man to pin down.”

“Scudder!?” Caitlin’s voice carried shrilly over the comms. “Cisco!”

Scudder didn’t cease his backward momentum, but he also didn’t teleport away; good so far. “You run around the city, block by block, just hoping to stumble across me, Flash?”

He was stalling for time too. Maybe he did want something from Barry. Barry kept his pace slow but his steps steady, hands ever raised. “Being a hero requires some detective work. Don’t think this was all chance. If I lose you now, I’ll just find you again. Later tonight. Later this week. The next time you try to take something that doesn’t belong to you. Your success getting one over on me and this city won’t last. Better meta humans than you have tried.”

The wider alley that Scudder was backing down emptied onto the street. He’d already reached the mouth of it, but as he did, he stopped and tilted his head. “You know I’m a meta human. Tell me, Flash. What do you think I can do?”

Barry lowered his hands as he came to a stop as well. He was five meters at most away from Scudder. One quick flash forward and he could have him, but if he tried, he might just as easily lose him. So he waited. “Seems pretty obvious given how you’ve accomplished your crimes so far.” 

“How…” Scudder repeated, grinning, as if that word in particular gave him confidence. 

“Keep him talking, Barry,” Cisco came over the comms now. “We’ve alerted the patrols in the area to your location. If he stays facing you, they might be able to tase him before he bamfs away.”

Barry took another step forward. “Just give up, Scudder. I—”

“Scudder,” he sneered, as if he found his own name distasteful. “All your enemies have more fitting monikers to honor their abilities, don’t they, Flash?”

Again, Barry stopped. Four meters. “They do. Kind of how the game works in Central City. So tell me. What’s your name?”

Scudder squared his shoulders, head lowered just enough to glare at Barry from beneath the hood of his brow, his smile an ever widening gash. “Oh…you’ll find out soon.”

Before Barry could act, Scudder darted around the corner out of sight. Barry grinned as he sparked with lightning and took off after him. A chase he could win. Maybe Scudder wasn’t a teleporter; maybe his powers only worked in the right conditions. Because if he had to run, Barry so had this. 

Barry did _not_ have this. 

He crested the edge of the alley, turned in the direction Scudder had gone, and saw…nothing. He skidded to a stop. Cars on the street, other people along the sidewalks, but no Scudder. 

A few of the plainclothes officers were headed toward him, some on foot, some in vehicles. They knew better than to use sirens, but they were already too late. 

“I lost him,” Barry grit out. “Wait…” The only other thing he could see was the window shops lining the street. Then again, he thought he’d seen something…flicker. 

That had to be Scudder’s signature! The sign that he was using his powers! 

Barry followed the flicker at a brisk walk, ignoring the pedestrians who stopped to point and stare at him, some even pulling out their cell phones to record. He hoped he gave them a good show, something Iris could use for an article with a headline better than ‘Flash Fails Again’. 

Maybe Scudder could only teleport so far. Maybe he could phase through matter. 

“Dude, is he Kitty Pryding this shit?” Cisco echoed his thoughts. 

“I don’t know, but I’m not giving up yet.” Barry flashed to the end of the street and turned around. There! Another flicker, leading down the next street. 

On a whim, Barry zipped to the end of the block and waited. He backed up, trying to hide himself in the shadows, which would have been much easier if his stealth suit had been ready. 

There was a closer flicker in the windows of the shop at the end of the block as Barry readied himself to flash forward and catch Scudder the moment he saw him, and then…

Nothing. 

Barry waited. Waited. Eventually, he peeked out of the shadows unsure which direction to look next. 

“Still haven’t figured it out yet, eh, Flash?” a voice said from behind him. 

Barry whirled around, reaching out to grab Scudder with both hands, only to grasp nothing but air. He stared at his own baffled and angry expression in the dark windows of the store he’d been hidden in front of. He pressed a hand to the glass. Was Scudder on the other side, mocking him? Was he one-dimensional? Was he invisible like Cisco had first guessed?

A flicker of red made Barry pull back and shake his head to clear it. Of course there would be red. His entire suit was red. But for a moment…for a moment, he’d thought that maybe—

“This is more fun than I expected, Flash!” Scudder called from the next street over, down yet another alley, far enough away that he had to yell. Barry didn’t know how the man was doing this, but he was done playing. 

He flashed after Scudder as fast as he could propel himself forward, and reached the corner at the exact moment Scudder finished darting around it. There was no way—

But as Barry got there, the alley was empty. 

He slammed a fist into the brick of the building. Determined, he walked cautiously down the alley turning in a slow circle. “A little help, guys? I can’t track him. It doesn’t seem like he’s teleporting, but I can’t—” Barry oofed as he was pushed so hard from behind he nearly face-planted into the wall. He spun around, only to be met by a closed door on the opposing building with nothing but a small square window that revealed the dark interior. 

Barry clenched his fists. “ _Cisco_.”

“I’ve got nothing, Barry! My meta tracker shows no sign of powers being used in that area.”

“He’s been using his powers the entire time!”

“Not according to the app!” Cisco yelled back. “Wherever he goes when he disappears, it must be blocking the signal.” 

Barry seethed, his hands starting to ache with the tightness of his fists. He spun in a circle faster and faster as he moved further down the alleyway. “Coward!” he cried.

“Barry, just stay calm,” Caitlin said, “we’ll—”

“See you soon, Flash.”

Barry spun around at super speed with a swinging punch. He twirled so fast without anything to slow his motion that he nearly toppled over. Nothing. Not a damn thing but the corner of the alley and a dirty dome mirror mounted on the wall. “Scudder!” Barry screamed. He punched the wall again, harder than before, causing an eruption of powder from the dried mortar.

Caitlin and Cisco talked at him, but he couldn’t make out the words as he huffed and shook with anger, trying to clear his vision of so much red. But nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. He was still angry. He still wanted to pummel the brick until his knuckles bled. Or until he made some lowlife bleed.

Barry touched a hand to his comms. “He’s gone. Give me something else.”

“Huh?” Cisco sputtered.

“What do you mean, Barry?” 

“Something _else_! Anything. Someone I can…stop.”

Silence answered him.

“I need something to show for tonight!” Barry slammed his palm into the brick. “Something to believe that this isn’t all for nothing.”

“Barry…” Caitlin said softly. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

“There’s an alarm going off on 7th,” Cisco spoke over her.

“ _Cisco_.”

“Could be nothing, no one’s reported anything official yet, but it’ll give you a run across town.”

Barry pushed from the wall, turned on his heels, and took off. He heard some muffled arguing between Cisco and Caitlin, then the comms went quiet like they’d turned off the mics on their end. Barry didn’t care. 

He knew he was being childish, foolish. He knew catching one criminal after failing with Scudder wouldn’t fix anything, couldn’t fix that he was broken even when he had a few good days under his belt. On a dime, the pain and anger and emptiness reared its head and reminded him that he failed more than he won, and was it really worth it? Was any of it worth it?

Answers that should have come easily to Barry eluded him. If he couldn’t escape the pain then he wanted to inflict it on someone else. That’s what Snart was for, he told himself; that was the whole point of leading Snart on. But right now he wanted to deliver pain with his fists and not care about the consequences, and for that he needed a face he didn’t know.

“Barry, I think you should come back to the cortex,” Caitlin said, calm and deliberate. Cisco remained quiet.

“I’m at 7th,” Barry ignored her. “Which building?”

Caitlin sighed.

Eventually, Cisco responded, “302. The smoke shop.”

Barry spotted it, and not seeing any activity in the front, he flashed around to the back. There hadn’t been many people on the street, and the alley behind the smoke shop was utterly dead—save the man trying to get the deadbolt off the door that he’d already picked open and had half propped. He had his hand shoved up inside the opening, fiddling with a screwdriver as he tried to take the deadbolt off completely.

He didn’t see Barry coming.

The usual banter Barry would have used to startle the man stayed still on his tongue. He rushed him, hauling him up by the shoulders and spinning him around to press him into the wall beside the door. The screwdriver clattered to the ground, the man’s eyes wide in surprise. His hair was chin length and greasy, face unshaven, eyes clouded probably from drugs. Barry instantly _loathed_ him—perfect.

“Hey, man, uhh…it’s not what it looks like!”

“Barry, there’s a cruiser only a block down. They’re headed your way,” Caitlin said. “Just—”

“Ah!” the thief cried out, grimacing as he looked at each of his forearms that Barry had pinned to the wall with his superior strength.

Barry knew he was strong even without having to use his speed. His constantly regenerating cells made it easier to push his body beyond normal human limits. He wondered how easy it would be to break the man’s arms. He could feel the delicateness of the bones beneath his fingers…

“Flash, man, come on,” the thief said, head lolling back against the wall as he continued to grit his teeth in pain. “It hurts, man. I’m just jonesing for a smoke, ya know. Don’t mean anybody no harm.”

Barry tightened his grip.

“Shit, shit, _stop_!” the man cried louder. “I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry! Gimme to the cops already!”

“Barry, what are you doing?” Caitlin demanded. “The police are almost there.” 

It was like a warning, like a threat— _you better stop or the police will catch you. Catch you doing something bad, something wrong._ Barry was the good guy. Barry was the hero. Barry was the one who always had to be on the right side of the law, be as near perfect as possible, or people ended up dead. He just wanted the opposite to be true _for once._

He didn’t want to kill the man in front of him, but would it really be so wrong to hurt him enough to make sure he never hurt anybody else? When did breaking and entering escalate? What would this man have done if someone else had caught him tonight instead of The Flash? 

Barry squeezed the man’s arms tighter, feeling the bones beneath his grasp begin to creak. 

The man screamed, and it should have made Barry want to stop, but as his anger waned, the awful numbness that was so much worse replaced it. Where had all those happy feelings gone, in so short a time? And all because Scudder got away when Barry had told himself, convinced himself that it didn’t matter. 

But it did matter. It always mattered. He _always_ had to be _better_. 

“Barry!” Cisco shouted so loudly over the comms that Barry flinched. “ _Stop_.”

All at once he took a step back. He released the man’s wrists, who immediately whimpered and clutched at his arms, bowled over with tears in his eyes. 

“What is wrong with you, man?! You’re fucking crazy! Crazy! It’s just a damn smoke shop, man! I didn’t hurt nobody!”

But Barry had. Barry had almost…

He felt sick, like he might throw up. _I’m not like him, I’m not like him, I’m not like—_

“Who, Barry?” Cisco finished, startling Barry that he’d muttered that out loud. 

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t think it. 

“Barry, please, answer us,” Caitlin begged. 

“I just thought that if you let off some steam,” Cisco said, “you’d feel better, but you can’t—”

“I’m fine,” Barry said on reflex, even though he knew it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, and it definitely wasn’t the truth. “I stopped. I’m…I’m getting out of here.”

Barry grabbed the man and flashed him around to the front of the building where the police had just pulled up. He left the thief on the sidewalk, and then he ran—ran, and ran, not knowing where he wanted to go. 

“Barry, please come back to the cortex,” Caitlin said. 

Barry shook his head inside the whirlwind. “I can’t. I need to call it a night. I need to go…” _Home_ , he thought, but that wasn’t where he wanted to go either. “I just need to go.”

“Barry,” Cisco tried, “we’ve been over this, okay, we’re here for you. You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

“I know,” Barry said, and in that moment he knew that there was only one place he wanted to be. “I won’t.”

He reached up to shut off his comms and took a sharp turn at the next intersection—in the direction of Snart’s apartment. 

XXXXX

Sam had been so very upset when he first saw The Flash stick his head into the alley he’d been walking down, certain for a moment that he’d been made. But no…no. Flash didn’t know nearly as much as he thought he did. A good detective, he’d said? Fine, but he was still in the dark about what really mattered. Sam knew that for sure now. 

How, The Flash had said, how Sam had accomplished his crimes so far, but not where. The where contained the clues to not only who Sam was but what he could do. Mercury Labs covered in mirrors and reflective surfaces. The glassworks. It was obvious, but The Flash couldn’t see it. Sam was a master thief. A master of subterfuge. A master at misdirection. A master…

Huh. Sam grinned. 

The Flash would know soon enough what Sam was really capable of; how he moved, how he worked, and how, with his powers, he was the only person alive who could do what he did and survive. 

_Soon, Flash._ Especially now that Sam knew what Cold was after. Oh yes, that was going to be fun. 

XXXXX

Len rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger before digging for his keys to head into his apartment. It was late. Later than he liked. Staying up after midnight was always a pain leading up to a heist, but if he didn’t work a few late nights, even adrenaline wouldn’t be enough to keep him alert come the real thing. Most heists didn’t happen in the middle of the day; this one was going to be well after closing. 

He’d been at the safe house ever since he left Hartley at the shop. He still had the cold gun in its holster, ready to draw it the moment some fool thought it smart to jump him, but no one had dared. Good. Right now, Len just wanted to sleep. 

He pushed inside, but despite how exhausted he was, he instantly knew that he was not alone. Someone was in his apartment. 

He drew his cold gun and it whirred to life as he aimed into the dark entryway, ready and waiting as the door clicked softly behind him. Nothing stirred, but within the otherwise quiet, there was the faint sound of even breathing. 

Len let the gun power down as he took further stock of the room. In front of the coat closet door was a pair of very recognizable red boots. 

Len relaxed, re-holstered his gun, locked the door behind him, and reached for the light switch. But then he stopped. Even breathing. The lights still off. He considered calling out, but thought better of that too. Slowly, after toeing off his shoes, he stepped into his living room, moving toward the sound of those indistinct breaths. 

Even in the dark, Len could clearly make out the figure on his sofa. Sprawled out, cowl back, suit half unzipped, Barry laid there as if he’d been waiting for Len for hours, all tousled and half-dressed just for him—now fast asleep. 

Len wondered for a moment why Barry hadn’t simply texted him or called, but then, in The Flash suit, he didn’t exactly have room for a phone. Len couldn’t know how long Barry had been lying there unless he checked his security footage, but for the moment it didn’t matter. 

He should have been annoyed to find his hero having once again broken into his home, in full Flash suit, no less, but he couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips as he watched the slow rise and fall of Barry’s chest. The mess of his hair. The subtle part to his lips as he slept. Damn if Len wasn’t smitten, seeing the kid so undone. 

For now he’d let him sleep. Any fallout could wait until tomorrow. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Barry is not chanting that he's not like Len. He's thinking of someone very different.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry wakes in unfamiliar territory, Len has an unexpected confrontation on his turf, and the last of the threads holding Barry together finally snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to say Barry isn't going to have any future outbursts. We haven't even gotten to the heist yet, though we're close. :-) But this was a big one...

Something smelled amazing. Like…cinnamon? Was Joe making cinnamon rolls?

Barry stirred, blinking up at the ceiling as he snuggled in deeper under the covers. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, so he had to have a little extra time, right? But breakfast smelled so _good_. So did his sheets, come to think of it, though he didn’t remember washing them recently. Only no, it wasn’t that fresh clean smell, more like remnants of a very familiar cologne…

Barry bolted upright in bed as his brain came to full alertness and he realized—remembered, _oh god, what had he been thinking_ —that he was not in his own bedroom. He was in Snart’s. In Snart’s _bed_. He hadn’t gone up to the bedroom himself, had he? He couldn’t have. He’d waited on the sofa, planning a surprise strip tease once Snart walked through the door. Only the thief hadn’t come home, and instead Barry had laid back against the cushions and closed his eyes. 

He glanced down at the covers pooled in his lap. He wasn’t wearing the Flash suit. He lifted the covers fully but—nope, only his underwear. Frantically, Barry looked around the room. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find the suit on a hanger dangling from the bathroom doorknob. On the floor in front of it was a neat pile of clothing that looked to be sweats and a T-shirt. 

Snart had found him on the sofa, and instead of rudely waking him, he’d carried Barry up to bed—somehow, because seriously, Barry wasn’t that light—undressed him, and set out comfier clothes for him to change into. 

Barry took another strong whiff of cinnamon. _And_ he was making breakfast. 

A smile tugged at Barry’s lips. Maybe he was in the Twilight Zone, and Snart’s evil—or in this case, not evil—twin was downstairs. But then, so far, this wasn’t out of character with how Snart had been acting. 

Acting, Barry reminded himself, shaking his head to clear it as he crawled out of bed and headed for the sweats. It was just an act. Just Snart playing it cool like he always did. It wouldn’t last. Nothing in Barry’s life ever did.

The sweats and T-shirt were well-worn, soft and clean. Barry flashed into them, grateful to have something other than his Flash suit to walk downstairs in, but what was he supposed to do now? 

The clock on the wall said 7:15. Barry had time before he needed to head to work. 

Oh god, work. He’d have to go straight to work or stop home to change, but if he did that, would Joe’s third degree be better or worse? Was Barry only postponing the inevitable if he went to work first? He had extra clothes there—sort of mandatory being a superhero—but there was no way Joe hadn’t noticed that Barry never came home last night. 

When Barry didn’t show, Joe would have called to check in, only Barry didn’t have his cell phone with him. So Joe would have called the labs, then Caitlin and Cisco directly. Or maybe they just called him, worried about Barry after he ran off from…

From… 

Almost losing his damn mind against someone who hardly deserved it. 

No, Barry couldn’t avoid the conversations he had coming, but he still wanted to delay them as much as possible. Joe would want to talk for sure now, and if Barry kept deflecting, his friends would stage an intervention before long. He just wished it could all go away without having to see their disappointment. 

How was he supposed to face them, Cisco and Caitlin especially? Only they had ever seen how bad it could get. Barry didn’t deserve their patience and understanding. He didn’t deserve anything good. He deserved Snart, clearly—the villain who would lie and cheat and take advantage at every turn, but at least he did it all in style. 

It was so much easier with Snart than with the others. Barry always knew what he was in for. He didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t The Flash, didn’t have to pretend he was okay. There were no expectations beyond the rules they’d put in place. It was simple. Oddly…comfortable.

Barry could afford to stay, eat breakfast, and head to work afterward. If Joe was going to corner him anyway, why force the issue? Barry just wanted a moment to breathe.

He grabbed his Flash suit and padded down the stairs. 

“Please tell me this isn’t some awful form of torture and you’re going to flip that right into the trash to spite me,” Barry said as the full blast of— _ooo French toast_ —assaulted him when he neared the kitchen.

Snart glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. He had a grey and blue sporty zip-up on and a pair of fitted sweats like he’d just gotten back from a run. Something about that thought made Barry smile. He laid his Flash suit over the back of the sofa and took his usual stool at the island.

“Still debating how you’re gonna pay me back for phasing in here last night, Barry. But for now you can enjoy the French toast on loan. Expect me to cash in your tab very soon.” Snart turned back to the stove, flipping the toast one last time, though a couple pieces each had already made it onto two separate plates. They looked flawless, with thick-cut slices of bread. 

“I thought you said I never owed you anything,” Barry teased, making sure to keep his smile so Snart knew he was joking. 

“Never wrong me and you never will. But keep showing up unexpected and I might stop finding your antics so endearing.” He flipped the last two pieces of French toast on top of the others on one of the plates, and with practiced motion, turned off the stove, set the spatula aside, and snatched up both plates to bring to the island where butter and syrup already waited. He’d given Barry an extra serving. It was all so…sweet. 

_Never wrong me and you never will._

Barry’s smile twitched. “Thanks,” he said, and happily dug in as Snart came around to sit beside him. There was still a bit of sweat on the other man’s brow and color in his cheeks from his run, but the scent of sweat about him was subtle, almost intoxicating.

They chatted while they ate, and all the while, Barry waited for Snart to ask—why had he come over last night? Why had he waited so long even after Snart didn’t show up? But Snart never broached the subject. He teased Barry and flirted and gave him that alluring side-eyed and glance down as if contemplating all the ways he could make Barry squirm, but he didn’t pry. Barry found himself leaning into Snart, closer and closer as they ate. 

Snart still warned Barry to take it easy with his ‘phasing nonsense’ and dropping by unannounced. “I don’t tend to bring illegal activities into my home, but if you ever walk in on something incriminating…”

“Our deal comes first,” Barry nodded. “I get it. I really didn’t mean to fall asleep here last night. I’ve just been...extra tired lately.”

Snart pushed his plate away since he’d finished, leaving a couple bites behind that Barry immediately speared with his folk since he’d already eaten everything on his plate. “Didn’t think you got tired like us normal folk. Insomnia. Back aches. Sore muscles.”

“Oh, I get sore muscles.” Barry sat up in his stool. “Just because I heal fast doesn’t mean I don’t feel everything. Sometimes after a night of running, it’s like phantom limb pains—everything hurts at once. Sadly, Caitlin’s skills with physically therapy don’t include a full body massage.” Barry snickered lightly. 

Whenever something did hurt, it always felt better so quickly. He’d felt pain over the past year like nothing he’d known his entire life before the lightning, but what right did he have to complain when he was still alive—and others weren’t?

“Come here,” Snart said, standing abruptly and grabbing Barry by the hand to pull him to his feet. It was an interesting role reversal; Snart leading Barry to the sofa. His touch was always so deliberate, always with a plan in mind, and for once his usually cool hands were warm from his run and from cooking breakfast.

Barry had time, whatever Snart had planned, so he went along willingly, and waggled an eyebrow at the thief. “Feeling frisky this morning, Cold?”

Snart shot him his amused ‘have patience’ look, and laid Barry down on the sofa the way he’d been last night. Then he lifted Barry’s legs and sat at the end with Barry’s feet in his lap. 

Barry frowned at first, confused, before a groan tore past his lips at the first firm press of Snart’s thumbs into the sole of his foot. It hurt but felt so good at the same time. Barry hadn’t received a foot rub in…ever.

“Do you know how much tension normal people carry in their feet, Barry? Sore muscles are more than…well, sore muscles.” He smoothed his thumbs over the top of Barry’s foot next while digging into the sole with his fingertips. Snart’s voice was a low, hypnotic hum around him as Barry relaxed and settled into the sofa. “We carry frustration there. Anger. So many varied emotions begging to be released.”

Barry snorted as he glanced down his body at the other man. “You into that new age stuff, Snart? Essential oils, organic food…”

“Organic food isn’t new age, kid,” Snart said with chiding amusement. “You won’t find me going to a faith healer any more than to a chiropractor, but I can appreciate the nuances of massage therapy.”

Barry groaned again. The way Snart played his fingers over the bottom of Barry’s foot like a piano was sinfully good. Harsh enough to make him hiss, then soft and soothing to make him moan positively filthy. Snart chuckled at him and dug in deeper.

What did he mean by emotions though? Barry wasn’t carrying any emotions in his _feet_. Just because he was a runner didn’t mean…

“Ugn…” Barry couldn’t stop the pleased noises from passing his lips as he drifted into that lovely place between awake and dozing, where he could float on a cloud with nothing to disturb his bliss. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Hmm…I’ll let you know if I think of something. “

Barry chuckled. The slow, constant pressure of Snart’s thumbs and fingers into his foot was better than any massage he’d ever received. The man really knew how to use his hands, but then, Barry knew that. Snart even worked his way higher, up Barry’s ankle beneath the borrowed sweats, and further up Barry’s calf where he tensed from being ticklish, before moving down and attending to each individual toe. 

Then the ball of Barry’s foot, the arch, the heel, the arch again—damn Barry carried a lot of tightness there. Receiving such thorough attention to the most active tools of his power carried a surprising intimacy. Barry wondered if Snart saw it that way, getting his hands on The Flash’s feet. Barry relied on his feet to fight and to survive more than most able-bodied people. Yet he’d never had them so well taken care of as they were right that moment. 

Snart moved to the other foot, and something inside of Barry shifted, as if the loosening of his muscles shook loose something else. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling above him only to realize he was blinking back tears. He touched a hand to his eyes. Why was he crying from a stupid foot rub…?

“Letting your guard down has its perils, kid,” Snart said, never ceasing his motions, his voice soft now and without judgement. “Sometimes we don’t even know what we’re holding onto ‘til it slips out of us.” 

Barry glanced at him, but Snart kept his eyes on Barry’s foot, concentration and sadness on his face that Barry didn’t understand. 

“You don’t always have to be okay,” Snart said. “You don’t have to be anything when you’re here, Barry. Outside these walls you’re plenty. I don’t need The Flash in my home. In fact, I’d prefer he stay far, far away.” He paused to reach up behind him and patted The Flash suit hanging over the sofa with a brief smirk.

Barry choked out a laugh. But he was choking on too much, so much more than laughter, as unforeseen emotions caught in his throat.

“The Flash in my bed, now, that is something to brag about. But I know where the real power is. All the parts I like to see bare and undone, that’s not The Flash. The Flash is your mask. I like what’s under it.”

“You don’t know what’s under it,” Barry said without thinking, low like a threat, because Snart didn’t know, not really, and he wouldn’t want the truth if he ever caught a glimpse of just how low Barry had sunk.

“Think you’re such an enigma, huh?” Snart pressed his thumbs into the arch of Barry’s foot again and held them there, applying firm pressure that hurt, but the pain was good, solid. Snart’s eyes looked so blue when they met Barry’s gaze. He was flushed and damp with sweat, casually dressed, in his own home, attending to Barry when this time Barry had done nothing so far to earn his keep. “Tell me. What’s so terrible about Barry Allen?”

Barry stared for far too long. At Snart’s eyes. At his face. At his hands ever moving. The words wouldn’t come to him, because there were too many of them, right on the brink of flooding out of him, and he couldn’t, _couldn’t_ let them out all at once. 

His tears fell more steadily—he couldn’t stop them—as he slowly drifted his eyes to the ceiling again, and focused on the pain more than the pleasure of Snart’s touch. 

“I almost snapped a man’s arms last night.” 

XXXXX 

Len sucked in a breath, but he refused to let his surprise betray itself in a pause of his rhythmic rubbing. He knew it was contradictory how he could enjoy offering such continual physical connection when he usually preferred to keep people at a distance. Rubbing Lisa’s shoulders, even Mick’s a few times over the years, was clinical, necessary, and so he could perform it like a duty, and enjoy it for the hard work and end results. With Barry it was…different. 

Len couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared his bed with someone for a full night, even if Barry had been passed out the entire time. Len had expected snuggling, but Barry had proven to be quite the opposite of his expectations, and curled into a ball on his side of the bed like he was trying to hide from the world. Len sympathized. 

While rubbing the kid’s feet, Len had basked in the praising moans that left Barry at first. But then he’d seen the tears start to fall, and he no longer knew what he was doing, what he was thinking— _what was he thinking?_ Psychoanalyzing, trying to make Barry _feel_ better because he hated to see him so fractured? He knew it left him too open himself, his own mask falling away as he told Barry that he preferred him without one. 

Oh Len liked the suit, the game, the fun of it all. But this, right now, just them without the rest, felt normal in a way that ached inside of him. In a way Len didn’t get to have—ever. It shouldn’t feel normal to have an enemy/sometimes lover in his lap, crying. He shouldn’t want to be here, even after what Barry had just said, more than he’d ever wanted to be on a job. 

Len slowed his hands, but kept the motion going to encourage Barry to talk, knowing that he was more likely to speak if Len merely listened. 

“He didn’t even do anything,” Barry said, quiet as he stared blankly upward. “He was trying to break into a store, but it wasn’t a big deal, ya know? No dangerous meta human. He didn’t have any weapons on him. But I was so _angry_.” Tears filled his eyes and streamed down faster— _faster_. “I saw Scudder, and…he made me look like a _fool_ , and I just…I wanted…something to make sense…” 

“We all lose our cool occasionally, Barry.”

Barry shook his head furiously. “It wasn’t the first time. A couple weeks ago there was another meta. I broke his nose. Gave him a concussion. Beat him til he begged me to stop. If my last hit had connected, I would have killed him. Just like…”

“Like…?” Len prompted when Barry trailed. 

“The others.” 

Len stared. He’d never heard anything about deaths at The Flash’s hands. 

Finally, Barry looked at him, though he had to see a giant blur for all the wetness in his eyes. Len’s hands went still but remained in contact with Barry’s skin, as he said, “‘Flash Kills Super Villains’ doesn’t make a good headline. Nobody outside the team knows. We had to clean up the bodies afterward.”

Len shivered as a chill ran through him. Barry was never supposed to look that blank and empty—ever.

“Atom Smasher, the one who could grow? We overloaded him. It stopped him but he couldn’t survive the radiation. And Sand Demon? I turned him into glass and shattered him. A million tiny pieces all around me. And the worst part is…sometimes I don’t even care that I killed them. Sometimes I don’t feel anything. And then, when I think I’m okay…I’ll dream about their faces.” 

The tears pooled fresh and liberal as Barry’s gaze turned distant again. “Or my mother’s face…looking at me in disappointment. I’m supposed to be better than this, better than…” He squeezed his eyes shut and sniffled pitifully. “Now I’m afraid I’ll lose it and kill someone else, and my friends keep trying to help but _nothing helps_.” 

Len squeezed Barry’s ankle until the speedster opened his eyes again. “Nothing?” 

He was risking too much, he knew, but he couldn’t leave Barry a whimpering mess. The kid was better than this, better than Len, better than what he thought of himself. It’s part of what made the game so fun. Usually Len faced off against deadbeats or cops, but Barry—he truly wanted to make a difference, to save lives, be a hero. People weren’t like that. Didn’t Barry understand how rare and precious he was?

Barry stared at him, as Len massaged a little further into his ankle and up his calf, where Barry hissed and flinched back like he had on the other side—ticklish. Len stretched one corner of his mouth into as much of a smile as he could form. He shifted on the sofa, crawled up and over Barry’s legs, straddled the kid and settled in his lap. He dipped down, descending slowly, until their lips brushed and he licked his way inside. 

Barry tasted like cinnamon. 

“You’re human,” Len said, practically breathing the words against Barry’s lips. “A meta human maybe, but human. It doesn’t make you spoiled or dirty for trying to do good and doing a little bad sometimes instead. You won’t accept your friends’ help ‘cause you don’t want them to see you like this, that it?”

Barry turned his head toward the back of the sofa. “It’s not just that. They all keep saying I’m not a burden, but I am. The way I’ve been acting, they think I hate them. But I don’t hate them. I hate me,” he bit out, and it was angrier than Len had ever heard him, even when Barry screamed. His tears were drying now, but there was something haunted in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to talk to my dad because even if he can’t see or admit that mom’s death was my fault, I know it was. I don’t want to see Iris because she always gives me this ‘poor Barry’ look like I’m pitiful, and I am. I’m a charity case to Joe too, always have been. And Cisco and Caitlin…” He shook his head, mouth curling into a sneer. “I’m just their damaged superhero.” 

Len’s eyes felt strangely…hot. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. Len wasn’t supposed to be doing the kid any favors, like he had when he warned him about Jesse and Mardon. He wasn’t supposed to play nice and go making deals with do-gooders. Or sleeping with the enemy, no matter how many tricks he had in bed. 

He definitely wasn’t supposed to see the hero exposed, telling him every secret he ever wanted to know, and want to fix it instead of exploit it.

“Those are a lotta words you’re putting in people’s mouths, Barry,” Len slid his hands to the kid’s face even if he wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t they deserve to think for themselves? You’re so sure you’re the bad guy in this story, but if you weren’t paying attention…that role is already taken.” 

Barry broke into a short, bitter laugh, before Len caught sight of familiar, beautiful green looking up at him. 

“Besides, your friends keep trying to help. People don’t go out of their way to help someone who doesn’t deserve it. Well, maybe _you_ do. But normal people? We’re selfish.” Len grinned because it was true—it was supposed to be true. “If all your friends see you as more than you see yourself, then maybe they’re not the blind ones.” 

It was like a curtain lifting, the way the darkness behind those green eyes faded, though Len knew it was far from being banished forever. 

Barry leaned up, and Len met him halfway for a kiss. It was deep and unhurried, like they had all the time in the word. They didn’t, even if one of them was the fastest man alive. 

Barry laid back and sighed. He moved his hands to cup Len’s ass, but his expression was resigned more than playful. “Maybe you’re right. I’m just afraid that…if I tell them how I really feel, I’ll snap anyway and do something I’ll regret.” 

Maybe that was exactly what Barry should do, Len thought. Sometimes the pot needed to boil over in order to settle. He couldn’t be sure if that was the right advice, couldn’t be sure what the right thing to say might be, but the clock was ticking, and Barry had his day job to attend to. 

Len bent down to kiss him once more, and gave a slow, teasing roll of his hips that made Barry groan. “So you’re saying I should be careful if we cross paths in the near future?” 

“You mean for your _heist_?” Barry called him on his bullshit, not that Len was about to admit anything. He’d just wanted to get a smile out of the kid again. “No…you’re different. It’s fun with you, Snart. As long as you don’t hurt anyone.” 

“A deal’s a deal,” Len nodded. He had a harmless gas planned for the one civilian involved, and the only other potential threat was currently beneath him. Len had some surprises for The Flash too, but nothing that would hurt him. Nothing that would ruin this. 

“Until it stops suiting you, you mean.” 

“Fair,” Len conceded, “but for now I have no intention of hurting anyone. And it’s _Len_.” He grinned again. 

Barry laughed. Len always knew when Barry forced his humor, his good moods, and this was raw and real. Barry squeezed Len’s sweatpants-covered ass, which was far too much of a tease on a Tuesday morning quickly nearing 8AM. 

“Len…” Barry purred.

“Time for work, kid.”

XXXXX

 _Work_ , damn it. Barry had almost forgotten. A quick morning romp would have done wonders to rid him of the lingering ache in his chest. 

Only it was…huh. Already lighter. The twist in his stomach, the ease with which his tears had formed, all seemed distant now, like all he had needed was to let some of the pain out, and for once it hadn’t immediately nudged its way back in. 

Logically, Barry knew that talking things out would help, but he hadn’t wanted that with anyone else. With Snart it didn’t matter how the man looked at him afterwards. Snart was bad to begin with. Why would he care if Barry was headed down a dark path? He’d probably welcome it and hope for a team up having Barry carry out his thefts. 

Nah. Snart would never want that. Having a speedster in his pocket would spoil the challenge. 

Snart climbed off of him while Barry was up in his head, or he would have clung onto that fine ass and kept it where it was, at least for a little longer. Barry had a flat ass, okay, he could admit that. But Snart? Damn. No one should look that good in workout clothes. In everything. In nothing. 

“Barry…” Snart grinned down at him.

 _The long game_ , Barry thought, as he accepted the hand Snart held out to him to help him from the sofa. Snart couldn’t have any fun with a blubbering mess, so of course he’d want to cheer Barry up. It didn’t mean anything. It just felt…nice that Snart didn’t pry the way the others did, that he just listened and then spoke in quiet, soothing words that for whatever reason made it easier to listen to him in turn. Maybe because Barry knew Snart would never look down on him. Snart was a liar, a criminal, a scoundrel. He was forever looking up. Yet lately, Barry had been feeling the same way. 

He flashed into his suit, leaving Snart’s clothes folded on the sofa, and started to put on his boots at the door. 

“Interesting choice of work clothes,” Snart crossed his arms with an amused eyebrow raise. 

“I’ll change when I get there. And next time I’ll call. Or text. Promise. Thanks for breakfast.” Barry made to walk toward Snart off the rug, then gave an abortive gesture like _oops, stuck now with my boots on, can’t get off._

Snart rolled his eyes, but it still got him to come closer and accept the kiss Barry pulled him into. And let linger. And _linger_... Maybe a little longer than necessary. 

“Have a nice day at work, dear,” Snart said sickly sweet in his Captain Cold drawl. 

Barry found himself smiling, laughing—and meaning it. 

Snart was a bad man. He was. He… _he was_. But he made things lighter. And easier. And even though Barry knew that soon, soon he’d have to end this or risk getting in too deep, for now he could enjoy the lie for just a little longer.

XXXXX

“What are you doing?” 

Lisa jumped, upsetting the grip she had on her phone, but Len had already seen the incriminating evidence over her shoulder. Sloppy that she hadn’t noticed him.

Len had come upon her outside Mrs. Pak’s corner store, at one of the outdoor tables to her Korean café. It was mid-afternoon, so Lisa only had a half-finished drink, no food, but she’d been engrossed in her phone—which until a moment ago had been displaying Cisco Ramon’s Facebook page.

Lisa whirled in her chair to face Len, clutching the phone to her chest. “Not funny, Lenny.”

Len promptly took a seat at the table beside her. “I think it’s hysterical.” He nodded at her phone. “Be honest. Did you get that knockout lipstick as a ploy to catch a young engineer unaware?”

“No.” 

“Lisa…”

“Only as a backup plan.”

Len would have rubbed his temples but he was beyond getting headaches over his sister. “You realize of course that a man you need to drug isn’t worth the effort.” Lisa opened her mouth to counter, but Len spoke on. “And you realize that Cisco Ramon of all people likely wouldn’t require much if any incentive to go on a date with you.”

Lisa pouted. Almost thirty years old, yet that expression made her look like she was five again, being denied a treat at the grocery store. Len would not be swayed, even if that expression made his stomach lurch with the desire to please her. He cocked an eyebrow and kept his face neutral. 

“I was just checking his relationship status,” Lisa said when she deflated under his stare. “There was a brief fling with some barista, but he’s single again, and well…your recent success, even if you won’t share with me who the guy is, has me curious.”

“About clandestine affairs?”

“About finding someone who could make _me_ smile like that.”

Len didn’t realize he was smiling again; he’d been trying to be blank—cold. First his mind and the words leaving his mouth were mutinying against him, now his facial expressions? He screwed his face up into a frown.

“Mrs. Pak described him for me,” Lisa shifted back to teasing now that she had an opening. “Tall. Too skinny. Brunette. Well-dressed but a bit on the dorky side.”

“Mrs. Pak did not say ‘dorky’.”

“Close enough,” Lisa shrugged and leaned forward on the table. “What she did say definitely translated to dorky. So this guy sounds entirely NOT your usual type, is what I’m saying, which says enough on its own. She said he showed up and you were flustered. He surprised you, huh? You’re keeping him to yourself. Won’t talk about him. Won’t tell me who he is. Which means you like him. And if he’s dressed nicely with a flare of nerdy too, that tells me a few other things. He’s not part of our world, is he?”

Len sighed, his hands twitching on the tabletop. “More so than you might think.” 

He’d taught his sister too well; she knew how to read a situation, how to fit together the pieces of a puzzle and act accordingly, turning any situation to her advantage. They weren’t supposed to use their skills against each other, but then that rule often went out the window when one of them thought it was in the other’s best interest. 

But as Len prepared himself to counter her prodding, to either shift attention elsewhere or maybe…maybe come clean and admit that he was fucking The Flash, he saw Lisa’s attention diverted behind him and her smile fell into a hard glower.

“What is it?” Len turned to look over his shoulder. He soon glowered as well. 

Dunkirk. On Len’s turf. Again. 

“This ends today.” Len stood with a scrape of metal on concrete. 

“Lenny…”

“Back me up or back off.”

Lisa huffed as she hurried to catch up with his swift strides across the street to where Dunkirk had just entered the bakery. “I don’t have my gun.”

“I do.” Len touched it within his trenchcoat. Thanks to Hartley’s modifications, he could do plenty to defend himself and send a strong message without even having to draw the weapon from its holster. “He doesn’t know you don’t have yours, and mine has those lovely new enhancements. Stay close.” 

Before Len left the electronics store yesterday, Hartley had added a pair of sunglasses for his more casual days. He slipped them from his coat pocket, put them on, and enjoyed the displayed weather report. If need be, he’d see a lot more through those lenses soon enough. 

Janey was working the shop without her grandmother today, Len noticed, as they entered with the gentle ding over the door to alert their presence. She flashed Len and Lisa a smile before saying, “I’ll be right with you, Mr. Snart.” Such a doll. But her good manners meant Dunkirk turned from where he stood at the counter. Not a problem; Len didn’t need the element of surprise to handle him.

He was a good looking enough guy. Young. Ballsy. Angry. Pale ginger hair that was almost blond, clean-shaven face, blue eyes, light skin and a thin but well-muscled physique from years of bar fights and bad decisions. His father had a sense of style that Len admired—nice shirts, nice suits. Sean preferred a more casual persona. Long leather jacket. Glitters of gold at his neck and wrist. 

Yet Janey wasn’t fazed by someone who looked tough and capable of flashing several 100 dollar bills in her face. “Do you know what you want, sir?” she asked Dunkirk, even though he hadn’t turned back to her. 

“Sean isn’t here for the Danishes, I’m afraid, Janey,” Len said, keeping his hand on his gun and Lisa behind him. “Why don’t you step into the back?”

Dunkirk squared his shoulders to face Len, while Janey caught wise of the situation and gave a swift nod before making scarce. Thankfully, there were no other customers at the moment. 

“Can’t a man order an afternoon snack in peace?” Dunkirk said, hand drifting inside his own jacket. His accent was faint, barely noticeable, unlike his father’s thick brogue. 

“He can. As long as he doesn’t follow up his order by asking directions to where his ex and son live.”

“And unborn baby, you’ll recall.” Dunkirk flashed a nasty grin, and took a slow step forward. “I’m entitled to what’s mine, Snart. Something you fail to understand. I know they’re still in the neighborhood. I know Carla works at that bar. Smart move making sure she always has an escort when she leaves. You pay the bouncer extra to do that? Or is that just part of the favors they owe you? And here I thought men like that usually paid you on their knees.”

Lisa’s hip subtly nudged Len’s. Trash like Dunkirk didn’t rattle him, but he didn’t care for bigots falling to low tactics just to rile him. He flicked the switch for the cold field and started to slowly expand the radius toward Dunkirk. He could see it clearly through the shades as it neared the man. With Lisa so close to him, she barely even shivered.

“I’ve warned you before, Sean. You stay out of my streets. Period. I don’t care what you think is yours. This neighborhood isn’t. It’s only a courtesy to your father that you’re still breathing. So back down, back off, and get the fuck out. Next time, I won’t ask nicely.”

The field encompassed Dunkirk before he could take another step, his expression instantly betraying that he felt the change in temperature. He shuddered. Scowled. Snarled at Len as a thin coating of frost began to form over his exposed skin, “The hell? This some kinda trick? You one of those f-freaks?”

Len inclined his head. “Maybe I am. Hard luck to press, Sean. You really want to push me? You only get a pass today because I’m in a good mood, and Lisa does so love this bakery. Would be a shame to rough it up.”

“I don’t know, Lenny,” Lisa draped her arm over Len’s shoulder, leaning tight against him but peering around his body with a wicked smile. She kept the other hand behind her back as if her gun was just within reach. “I could be persuaded to be a little bad. We could pay for any repairs. I’m sure Janey would understand.”

“True…” Len moved the radius with Dunkirk as he tried to back out of it, then forward again, but he couldn’t escape the chill, and he couldn’t see how Len was accomplishing this feat. 

“Oh there’ll be a n-n-next time,” Dunkirk’s teeth chattered, but he raised his hands to show he hadn’t drawn his weapon. “I’ll be on my way.”

Len reined in the cold field, but waited for a fresh shiver to leave Dunkirk before he turned it off completely. He knew this only postponed a future confrontation, but he didn’t look forward to an all-out war with the Irish when he killed the man. Another option would be preferable, but if such a thing presented itself it wouldn’t involve this asshole getting his way.

Len and Lisa moved from the entrance to let Dunkirk pass, but of course he had to pause, say, “See you soon, Snart,” even with the frost still flaking from his skin.

“Coast’s clear, Janey!” Lisa called out.

Len removed his sunglasses, and watched Dunkirk out the shop windows as the man headed away from the neighborhood. Unfortunately, this problem was not going away on its own.

XXXXX

It was a relief for the first few hours at work that Barry didn’t have his cell phone. Joe got called off on a case before he could corner Barry in the lab, but by lunch Barry knew a lot more than just Joe might show up to talk to him—in person, at the precinct if they had to—if he didn’t check his messages. 

He ran home, brushed his teeth after scarfing down some lunch, and grabbed his phone from the Labs without Caitlin or Cisco even noticing he’d breezed through. 

Everyone had tried to reach him last night and this morning. Cisco and Caitlin must have called in the cavalry, because Barry even had a message from Felicity— _Do I have to come to Central City to throttle you, Barry Allen?_ Barry couldn’t resist smiling at her tactics, but then she did deal with Oliver on a regular basis. 

He spent the rest of his lunch break answering texts, and fielding a few new ones. He was fine. He was sorry. Yes, he’d talk, he just needed to get through the day. And he did, almost without incident or anyone showing up to blindside him. Until Joe came in as Barry was about to leave and said he was giving Barry a ride to STAR Labs. 

The car was silent for the first five minutes. Barry would have been at the Labs by now if he’d run there, but that was part of the point. Joe’s silent treatment was almost worse than his lectures as it stretched on between them. 

Barry closed his eyes eventually and faced the window. “Cisco and Caitlin know. Iris knows a little.”

“Care to share with me, then, finally?”

 _I’m broken_ , Barry thought, but he’d just scare Joe if he said that. “I’m sad and angry all the time, and nothing”— _almost nothing_ —“seems to make it go away. It’s making me careless, dangerous when I’m out there as The Flash. But if I try to talk it out, I’m gonna end up screaming.”

“Like you did with Henry?”

Barry opened his eyes with a sigh, puffing fog against the glass. “Of course he called you. What am I supposed to say, Joe? He left me, and I hate myself, and sometimes I don’t even know why I…”

“Why you what?”

 _Why I keep going._ “Why I even try as The Flash when people like Scudder keep showing up to make life harder the second we think we have things figured out. I need a break, but I can’t take one, so what’s there to even do about it?”

“There’s the hard way, Barry. The long way. One day at a time. I know it’s not the answer you wanna hear right now, kiddo, but it’s all I got. I can promise you that the people who care about you will always be here. I’ll always be here. You know that. If you need a break from being The Flash—”

“I can’t, Joe.” Barry finally turned from the window to face his father. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt when I can do something to prevent it. Scudder would have targeted me anyway. He wants the limelight, and that means facing The Flash.”

Joe tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “There are other heroes, Barry. Maybe Team Arrow could—”

“I’m not asking for backup when I don’t need it. They have their own villains, their own crises to deal with. I’ll be okay. I will. I just need to think like you said, Joe—one day at a time.” It sounded so simple and yet insurmountable at the same time. 

When they parked, Barry got out before Joe could say any more, but Joe hurried after him and caught him up in a swift hug. “Don’t you dare hate yourself, Barry. There is nothing to hate, you got me?”

Barry sank into the embrace, but he had no tears to shed this time. He’d shed them all that morning. “Okay,” he said, even if he didn’t…couldn’t believe it.

Cisco and Caitlin weren’t as difficult to face as Barry had feared when they reached the cortex. They hugged him too, both at once like they had weeks ago, and trapped Barry between them. They hadn’t told Joe about the thief at the smoke shop. The uniforms who brought him in hadn’t given any mention of The Flash either. Barry didn’t know if they simply hadn’t seen him, or if they didn’t believe the man who would have ranted about The Flash hurting him. 

But Iris was there too, and she knew there was something left unsaid; she always did. Her signature pitying look made its appearance, and when she held Barry close, she made him promise that they’d talk. Tonight. Tomorrow. Soon. Barry couldn’t refuse her. 

He could only hide so much, so he came clean that something was off inside of him. He was trying, but his powers didn’t know how to heal this. Then Caitlin came forward and offered him a small, unlabeled bottle of pills.

“This isn’t a cure-all, Barry, but it might help. I think I found the right formula to bypass your metabolism without disrupting the rest of your abilities. When you reach a low point, take one, but never more than two a day.” She handed him the bottle with her strained, quirked smile that showed how much she cared, so like Iris’s pitying look really, but this time Barry felt a twang of hope. 

At this stage of feeling like he’d never be normal again, Barry was willing to try anything. “Thank you,” he said. He wanted to apologize over and over again for how much he must have scared her and Cisco, how worried he’d made them all, how much he kept pushing everyone away, but he couldn’t find the words. Sorry wasn’t enough. 

So he simply said, “I promise I won’t run anymore.”

He agreed to have lunch with Iris the next day. He couldn’t tell her, or Joe, or Cisco and Caitlin, everything that was going on, not the way he’d confessed to Snart. What he felt about his father was already known, so he focused on that as he sat with Iris at a little café down from the precinct. He told her half-truths. How angry he was. How numb sometimes. How he felt responsible for pretty much everything that had gone wrong, everyone who had died, and it overwhelmed him most days until the only thing he could think of to feel better was to lash out. 

“You said there was something that was helping?” she said. “Is it still helping?”

“Sometimes.” Barry feared Iris would find out since Cisco knew some of the truth, so he told her as much as he’d told him. “There’s this…guy. That I’ve been sleeping with.”

“ _Barry_ ,” Iris flashed him her ‘look at you being naughty’ smile which was much better than the pitying one. 

“It’s not a big deal, he’s just…easy to get lost in. When nothing else makes sense or makes me feel better, he does. Which is probably just endorphins from the sex,” Barry chuckled. “I don’t really get much from running anymore.”

Iris giggled and pushed him in the shoulder. “Well, that’s good, Barry, really, I’m happy for you. But don’t get so addicted to the endorphin rush from your mystery man that you feel worse when you’re away from him. You need to figure out how to keep those good feelings going.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Maybe this mystery man needs to upgrade to mystery _boyfriend_ if he makes you feel so good. There is more to happiness than sex, you know? Or doesn’t he go for that sort of thing?” There was an edge to her smirk that proved she was also prying for more details on someone she didn’t know or trust yet with her best friend’s heart. Little did she know how warranted her concerns were…

Snart, his boyfriend? That would be insane. Sure, Barry couldn’t say that their time together had only revolved around sex, but the sex was what he craved, wasn’t it? 

He thought of all the meals they’d shared. That day going around Snart’s neighborhood. How the thief had just sat there and listened to Barry’s problems more than once now. How he’d been the one to prompt Barry, to wonder if he was doing okay, which should have been out of character and yet…

“Barry?”

Barry blinked and realized he’d been staring at the table between them. “Yeah, uhh…I don’t think he’d go for that. We’re kinda from different worlds most the time.”

“Yeah? Well, sometimes those relationships burn the brightest.”

 _And burn out the fastest_ , Barry thought. 

“But don’t spend so much time with someone who would never want more from you than a good time, Barry. You deserve someone who wants to sweep you off your feet.” There was that sadness again, that pity, because Barry had once confessed he wanted Iris in that way, but she hadn’t wanted him back. 

Barry knew it was the right call. He didn’t want Iris either if she could never love him the way he’d once thought he loved her. He wanted someone to lose their mind over him, to think of nothing but him—all-in, can’t live without it LOVE. Most people probably found that terrifying, but it was non-negotiable for Barry. 

Snart could never understand something like that. 

Iris made Barry promise that this would be a regular thing—more than group activities or family dinners; just the two of them, actually talking like they used to. Barry didn’t mind the idea. He felt lighter again after lunch with Iris, and he couldn’t keep telling himself that it wasn’t because some of the truth had finally gotten out of him. 

The rest of the day went slowly. And Thursday. And Friday leading into family dinner. He still gamed with Cisco Thursday night—not Heists this time. They played Diablo III; Cisco a Crusader, Barry a Demon Hunter. It was definitely more fun than last time. But something hung in the air, the sense that Cisco was using kid gloves around Barry and trying too hard to cheer him up. 

Barry snuck away when he replenished his plate of food to take one of the pills from Caitlin. He wasn’t sure if it worked, but when he felt his emotions spike, taking one of the pills made him pause, think, breathe. He took at least one every day, but he still felt the razor’s edge, that precarious balance of losing his composure again. 

Three days never seemed so long.

The one thing he couldn’t do was call his dad. He texted him again, said he just needed a little more time. That he loved him, and missed him, but he was grieving for a few things he couldn’t quite explain, and he didn’t know how to stop. Once he figured that out, he’d call. 

_But please leave Joe and Iris out of it. They worry enough as it is._

“Hey, Barry,” Wally said as the two of them helped set the table for dinner. This time they were having steak—ala Joe—while Iris provided most of the side dishes, and Wally had brought a salad. “What did you bring to add to the meal?”

“Oh, uhh…bread. Just need to heat it up in the oven. I better get on that.” Barry rushed back into the kitchen, flashed out the back door, and returned with a loaf of rosemary and garlic bread from the store. He knew he’d forgotten something. 

When Barry returned to the dining room, he found Joe and Iris helping Wally finish the table. Walking in on the three of them together like that gave Barry pause. The more comfortable laughs between them now, the rhythm in which they moved. Even not being raised by Joe didn’t diminish how much Wally echoed his father’s mannerisms. It was humbling to witness. 

“This isn’t a spectator sport, Barr,” Joe said with an authoritative point of his finger and teasing smirk, “go get the napkins, huh? You’re about to be blown away by how I did these steaks.”

Instead of board games they’d each brought a suggestion for a show to watch after dinner, and were going to buzz through the first episode of each before voting on the show they most wanted to continue, then start a marathon. It was Friday night after all. 

Barry had brought his season 1 boxset of Stargate SG-1. Cisco would have been proud. 

They were halfway through dinner when his phone buzzed. Barry didn’t think much of it when he checked the message. He’d left things open with Snart about seeing him tonight—if family time ended early—or tomorrow night, so he knew it couldn’t be him. 

_Bow before my glory—The Invisible Man is ready. Come test out your new suit, bro!_

_Dude, it’s family dinner night, remember?_

_I know, I know, but this is just a quick field test to see if you can get up to speed without the reflectors fritzing. Fifteen minutes tops. Say you’re running out for ice cream._

Barry was too sorely tempted not to accept the offer. That stealth suit could make or break his chances against Scudder, and right now he had no idea when the thief would strike again. 

“Something important, Barry?” Wally asked, noticing his diverted attention on the phone. 

Barry quickly messaged Cisco back that he was on his way. “Yeah, actually. Cisco needs my help with something at the Labs. I wouldn’t normally duck out, but it’ll only be fifteen minutes. You mind, Joe?”

“Wouldn’t normally, right,” Wally muttered—softly, but not quite low enough not to be heard. 

Barry turned his attention back to the younger man. “Something you wanna say, Wally?” 

Iris and Joe both shot Barry a look. He knew he didn’t have a right to snap when Wally wasn’t exactly wrong, but he’d always known he wasn’t imagining the sneers in Wally’s smiles. 

Wally smiled now, but nothing about it looked friendly. “Yeah, I do. Are you ever actually here when you’re with us, Barry? Half the time you don’t show. And when you do, half _that_ time you’re on your phone. Or staring off into space,” he scoffed. “You know, if you don’t want to be here, it wouldn’t bother me none to see you gone.”

“ _Wally_ ,” Joe said sternly. 

“Oh come on, Joe,” Wally sat back in his chair. “Am I the only one who thinks Barry doesn’t want anything to do with family night? You really think that’s gonna change after I move in?”

“What?” Barry gaped at Joe. “Move in?”

Leaving his own meal unfinished, Joe gave a long, suffering sigh. Iris didn’t look surprised; she’d already known. “Wally needs a place to stay, Barr. The dorms are too expensive. He doesn’t even need to take over Iris’s old room. I’ve been working on redoing the upstairs—”

“And you weren’t even going to tell me? No, I suppose not,” Barry looked back across the table at Wally, “since I’m not part of the family.” He threw his napkin on the table, snatched up his phone, and stood. 

“Barry, wait—” Iris cut in.

“You certainly don’t act like you want to be part of this family,” Wally grumbled. “Not as long as I’m included.” 

“Both of you, stop it!” Iris stood before Barry could leave the room. “Listen to yourselves. You’re saying the same thing, thinking the other doesn’t believe they belong, when you’re the one feeling excluded. But you’re both welcome here. You’re both part of this family.”

“Damn right you are,” Joe stood up next. “You’re both my sons. That’s all that matters. I don’t want you thinking you have to fight over your place in this family. Barry, the reason I didn’t tell you about Wally moving in is because it happened just these past couple days, and you’ve…had your mind elsewhere.”

Barry’s stomach sank at the sorrowful look in Joe’s eyes. He was excluded because he’d excluded himself, made himself too much of a burden to deal with, so Joe hadn’t even bothered.

“And that’s just it, right?” Wally pushed from the table finally too. “Barry gets a free pass no matter what he does. I try to bail on Mom,” he spun to face Iris, “and you call me on my bullshit. But Barry bails and bails and _bails_ on us, and his mind’s just _elsewhere_?”

“Wally, you don’t understand—” Joe tried, but Wally cut him off. 

“No, I don’t! Coz Barry’s never here!” He whirled on Barry again, glaring with all the hatred Barry felt toward himself. “But I guess that’s just how you are. You got to have the family I never did, and you don’t even care. _God_ , I can’t believe The Flash and someone as selfish as you can exist in the same city.”

A laugh barked out of Barry before he could stop it. Because it was too funny. Fucking hilarious that Barry Allen was the worst of this city, and The Flash was the best, and somehow Barry was both. It made so much sense in that moment why he was torn up inside—because he was too halves that didn’t go together, maybe never would, and that… _that_ was funny. 

So he laughed. He laughed until all three Wests were staring at him. “Oh come on!” he said, near hysterics when none of them joined him; of course they didn’t. “It’s funny, right? Isn’t it _funny_ , Iris,” he turned to her, “because you wanted me to tell him. Well, I think he’s in for a rude awakening.”

“Barry, stop…” Iris looked at him like she was fractured inside too. But that was normal, wasn’t it? It was normal for Barry to hurt the people he loved.

“I wanted _my_ dad,” Barry grit out as he looked to Wally and blinked back tears he couldn’t feel. “But I didn’t get my dad either. Yeah, it’s unfair that I got yours. It’s unfair that my mother died. It’s unfair that yours did too. I wish I could erase myself from everyone’s lives so none of it ever happened. But even that wouldn’t change what happened to you. You can blame me anyway though, Wally, go right ahead. I do. Usually everything is my fault.”

“Barry—” Iris reached for him.

“Don’t. Touch me.” Barry backed away, as his clenched fists shook and shook and…pulsed, vibrating in his fury, making Wally’s eyes, making _all of their eyes_ widen. “I don’t want to be your charity case anymore, Iris. Joe took me in and you were kind because it was sad, because helping was the right thing, but you didn’t choose to be my friend. When I told you I loved you, you chose Eddie, and that was the right decision. Why would you ever want me? Why would anyone want me?

“I’m just your obligation because you felt pity for me,” he turned his words on Joe, who looked anguished and speechless, but only because he was a good man who deserved better than Barry. “You’re pitying me right now. But you don’t need a substitute son anymore, Joe. You have the real thing. Stop pretending you have room for another."

“Barry—”

“Have a nice night.” Barry turned for the door, hands finally stable but still clenched. Wally stood in his path, but he backed into Iris as if Barry carried a plague in his wake. 

“Barry, get back here! _Barry!_ ” Joe called after him. “You promised you wouldn’t run!”

Barry stopped. Coldly, he looked over his shoulder, and saw how stunned and terrified they all were. Even Joe, who for once didn’t know what to do, because there was nothing to do. Barry couldn’t be fixed. 

“I know. But running’s the only thing I’m good at anymore,” Barry said, before he flashed out of the house with his lightning trail following him. 

He didn’t tell Cisco anything about what he’d left behind when he arrived at the Labs. He tossed his phone aside, could have cared less if Joe or Iris called him, and focused on running. When it was clear that Cisco had succeeded and Barry could use the suit to his heart’s content without it becoming visible, he told Cisco he was taking it out on a trial run through the city, and not to expect him back until morning. 

Barry knew exactly who to test the suit out on first. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massages can indeed make you cry, and in general just attention on your body that is tied to emotional trauma (which will come up again later). 
> 
> "I can’t let anyone else get hurt when I can do something to prevent it" was written long before the similar line Barry spoke during last night's finale. I was quite thrilled. :-)
> 
> The pills will come up again, it's not meant to be a throw away. You'll see.
> 
> Please don't be mad at Wally, or mad at me for having Wally erupt like this. Remember how he acted toward Barry around the Shark King stuff? This is how Wally felt. But he and Barry are going to have some nice moments, I promise. Wally is my sweet baby, and I love him. 
> 
> More soon! It's summer now, folks...


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len is surprised by an invisible Barry. It does not go over well, but maybe ends better than either could have hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> The start of this chapter might be triggering for people, as Len is pushed to a panic attack because of Barry's behavior, not listening to him, and bordering on non-con. IT DOES NOT actually get that far, but be prepared for that emotional turmoil from Len's perspective before Barry realizes what he is doing. 
> 
> Thank you!

Len stared at his Netflix screen. Nothing sounded appealing. He tapped the remote against the cushion beside him like a metronome. He was bored, plain and simple, and not the kind of bored that an old show or favorite movie could squelch. 

There was nothing more to be done in preparation for the heist until the day of. He could fiddle with his cold gun, but he already understood the inner workings of the cold field and didn’t want to risk throwing something off. Besides, taking out his gun to tinker with it in his home could get risky if Barry suddenly showed up. 

Not that Len was holding out for Barry to show up. Kid had ‘family dinner night’ to attend to, and had only mentioned offhandedly that he might be able to come over if things ended early. Len did not wait by the phone for some pretty young thing to give him the time of day. If he didn’t see Barry tonight, he’d see him tomorrow night. After that the heist might even prove to be a kind of foreplay between them. Barry might enjoy the chance for something more normal after all this mess with Scudder. Len didn’t mind providing a challenge that neither of them could really win or lose. 

Well, as long as Len got away with the score, while The Flash could still look like a hero saving the security guard from unknown tortures—even if he’d just be passed out on the floor. There could be a win-win in there somewhere. Barry could prevent them from getting away with the rest of the loot, as long as Len still made off with the diamond and didn’t see any jail time. That was their deal, right?

But that was Monday. Today was Friday, and right now, Len had no new messages from Barry and nothing else to occupy his time. 

Maybe _Big Trouble in Little China_. It never failed to amuse Len when Kurt Russell got knocked out by falling ceiling debris at the start of the final battle, and only really contributed at the very end. 

A gust of wind made Len shiver. 

Wait. Gust of wind?

Len bolted off the couch and whirled around to take in his apartment. No one. Everything in its place. The door was still closed, but—there. The rug. It was folded up as if someone had just walked—or run—across it. 

“Barry?” Len called, relaxing marginally, but a little on edge since he couldn’t see the kid, and wondered where he could be hiding. Maybe he was feeling coy, and had whisked upstairs to undress and wait for Len on the bed. Len didn’t care for surprises, but he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a gift like that. 

Nothing save the familiar creaks of his apartment replied, though the tingling sense that something was wrong, that someone was there, he just couldn’t see them, made him slowly circle the sofa while keeping an ever-watchful eye directed outward. 

Another gust of wind. Len whirled again—still nothing. He gritted his teeth, hands twitching, eager to have something in their grasp. “ _Barry_ ,” he called with more warning, “if you’re angling to get me to reveal the cold gun, it’s not gonna happen. Not unless you’re looking for a fight.”

A faint, eerie giggle responded. “Spoil sport,” Barry’s voice came from behind him, but again, when Len turned toward it, there was nothing. Was Barry just moving that fast? “I don’t want to fight,” Barry said, yet the tone of his voice seemed to say the opposite, coming from—right in front of Len, damn it, why couldn’t he see him? “I want to _play._ ”

Len was already backing off, scanning every inch he could see—maybe Barry was vibrating too fast to be visible, like when he phased through matter, but then why did his voice sound steady?—when that gust of wind came right at Len, and he found himself pinned to the wall beside the stairs. 

He was fine, he was fine, he was _fine_. But his first instinct was to throw a punch, rush forward, _attack_ —or face the consequences. 

_No._ This was Barry. Barry wasn’t holding him too tightly, he hadn’t slammed Len back too hard; he didn’t know this bent the rules in ways that made Len’s stomach twist. How could he? 

Their initial encounters were made up of Len grinning at him as they traded blows. But that was different. That was theatrics. That was planned and prepared for and expected. When Len was safe in his home with someone he should have been able to trust, he couldn’t…he had to keep it separate. Otherwise, he’d turn this into a real fight or _panic_ , and he couldn’t allow either.

But where was Barry? Len could feel him, the kid’s gloved hands on his shoulders, his breath against Len’s face, but he couldn’t _see anything_. 

“Like the new suit?” Barry said, and all at once the image before Len rippled, revealing a body in black that Len might not have recognized as Barry if not for the voice, and then his mouth as he pulled up the mask just enough to free his lips. 

He descended on Len, and Len tensed. His brain was still playing catch-up. He wanted to fight back, or at least take a moment to breathe, to really see Barry so he could shrug off the tightness in his limbs that wasn’t going away. He tried to turn his head out of the kiss, but Barry was too strong, pressed him into the wall, and delved into his mouth with a possessive tongue. Len trembled—and not in the way he enjoyed trembling at Barry’s touch. 

His breath caught and his hands were shaking, dangling useless at his sides as Barry held him in place. Len felt helpless, and he…he couldn’t be helpless like this, _not like this._

Barry pulled back just as the panic started to ratchet up higher. “Got called to the labs to try this baby out. Figured I’d share the spoils with you and have a little fun. Race you to the bedroom,” he whispered, and in a blink, he was gone again—black mask back in place, invisible. 

An invisible Flash. The thought was sobering—terrifying—for many reasons. This wasn’t the type of action Len had been looking forward to tonight. 

He didn’t feel another gust of air or hear any sounds of movement, so he moved away from the stairs, hugging the wall to ground him as he escaped where Barry had been and kept his eyes peeled for another telling ripple of movement. 

“Barry?” he called, demanding of himself that his voice be firm, not shaking, not enough to give away the bile and fear in his throat. Leonard Snart was not afraid—he was never afraid, not anymore. He needed to shed this feeling of being powerless. It was just Barry. It was just _Barry_. “Not my kinda game, kid! Take off that mask and I can show you a much better—”

“Oh, no. It’s my turn again,” Barry’s voice startled Len from behind, and then he felt hands loop around his waist that were rougher than the trypolimer. Len shivered again. He needed to relax. He’d enjoyed this kind of power play with Barry before; he just wished he could _see him_. “My rules. I’ll make it good for you, Snart. You know I will.”

 _Len,_ Len wanted to correct Barry, but the kid always fell to old habits when he wasn’t thinking. Len had noticed; he always noticed. And if Barry wasn’t thinking then he wasn’t listening. That darkness in him; Len had never been afraid of it, but seeing Barry in a sleek black suit seemed to personify those shadows behind his eyes like armor Barry had accepted as his skin.

Still shaking, trying to calm his nerves, Len brought his hands up to cover Barry’s, reminding himself that he liked the way this body felt pressed up against him, _he did._ “Whatever you want, Scarlet. Just let me—”

Free-falling, rollercoaster ride, gut-wrenching propulsion, and Len was upstairs on the bed, an invisible body crawling over him, holding him down. It wasn’t like his nightmares. _It wasn’t like his nightmares._

“Barry—”

“Maybe I’ll keep the suit on for a while. Take you apart just. Like. This.” All Len could see above him was the ceiling and the skyline of Central City, but he could feel the weight straddling him, the hands holding him to the bed. “Better than a blindfold, right?”

 _No, no, no._

The rough hands were almost like skin, but Len knew it was the suit. They pushed up beneath his long-sleeved T-shirt, running slowly along his stomach and chest, making his gut clench, while the other hand pawed at the button of his jeans.

Barry’s touch was good. Barry’s touch made him feel alive. Barry’s touch was not like the touches Len had been running from his entire life…

“Barry, listen to—”

Barry flipped him over so fast, Len’s head spun. His jeans were unbuttoned now and his shirt hiked up, as those rough hands started to pull the jeans down. Len’s face pressed into the pillow, hands grasping for purchase, and he just…he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_. 

“Stop,” he croaked out, not even recognizing it as a word at first. He started to struggle, but Barry held him firm, thinking it was all part of the game. Len pulled his knees up beneath him, trying to shift away from Barry, as the kid yanked the jeans down his hips. “Barry, stop,” he managed louder, struggling harder, elbowing Barry back, because he wasn’t listening, and Len couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_. “Barry, _stop!_ ”

Len fought tooth and nail as if he’d been jumped in the prison yard, not seeing, or thinking, or fully aware of anything until the unwanted presence of the body above and behind him was gone. He scrambled to the edge of the bed to sit, legs dangling, breathing, _gasping_ bent over into his knees. 

He didn’t remember the last time it had been this bad. He didn’t get like this anymore. He was always ready for it, always expected the worst, with an edge to him that would cut anyone who tried to bring him low. But he trusted Barry. Felt safe in his home like he did in few other places. And occasionally, too often with both Barry and the comfort of his home, Len let his guard down, and that…that had its perils. It opened him up to too many old feelings of being trapped in a place that should have been a sanctuary, by a man who should have been the person he turned to when he was scared. 

A fight was one thing, but nobody hurt Len like that anymore. Nobody had power over him. Nobody—

“Len…?” The kid’s voice was close. Beside him on the bed, touching distance. Len glanced aside and saw the black of Barry’s thigh, the suit made visible again. “I thought you’d like it, like before. Are…are you shaking?”

A black-gloved hand came into view and Len flinched. “Don’t. I’m fine.” 

“Len, you’re not—”

“You were holding me _down_ ,” Len spat, still hunched over, staring at his legs that had his jeans trapped around his thighs. He wanted to pull them up, but he couldn’t move. His voice shook when he spoke. “You c-can’t…do that.” _Fuck._

Barry’s voice came softer. “Okay.” 

“I couldn’t _see you_ ,” Len tried to be angry more than anguished. 

“ _Okay._ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I wasn’t trying to—” 

“I know, Barry.” Len did. Of course he did. That wasn’t like Barry. He wasn’t harsh and brutal. Dark and angry sometimes, maybe, alluringly rough in all the right ways, but he hadn’t meant to scare Len. 

Damn it. Now Barry knew Len could be scared. Knew that Len was broken too, when no one outside of Lisa and Mick were ever supposed to know that the right combination of events, or words, or touch could spiral Len right back to being ten years old again. Even with his father dead. 

Len focused on slowing his breathing. Kept his eyes open but focused on the pattern of his jeans. The varying shades of blue stripes in his underwear. The hairs on his legs. _Just breathe. Stop shaking._ Relaxed hands splayed over his thighs— _don’t clench them_. Shoulders sagging, easing out of their tension. He was fine, he was fine, he was _fine._

Several minutes passed before Barry’s tentative voice called out, “Should I go?”

If it had been anyone else, Len would have thrown him out by now, turned his panic into rage and directed it at Barry. But when he felt the bed dip and bounce back with the motion of Barry standing, he knew that the last thing he wanted was to see the kid go. 

Len sat up straight, looked at Barry standing there uncertain and small. The black mask was in his hands, and he was clenching it probably too tightly for Cisco’s liking, cowl hair sticking up every which direction, mouth turned into a frown as he stared at his hands and then started to head for the stairs. 

“No.” Len reached out and grasped his wrist. “Come here. Let me get that suit off you. Then you can make this up to me.”

Barry turned back to him slowly, skeptical. The mask was in the hand Len had caught. As their eyes met, Len was thankful that his own were dry, but Barry’s looked watery and racked with guilt for more than what had happened tonight. 

The mask fell from Barry’s fingers to the floor. This was Barry. Len had nothing to be afraid of, but he still feared something at the edge of whatever this was between them. He didn’t fear Barry the way he sometimes feared his past; he feared wanting something he didn’t deserve. Why did Barry insist on showing him something so beautiful that could never be his, something that for once, he couldn’t steal? 

But maybe he could borrow it. Maybe he could hold this—hold Barry—for just a little longer, and pretend. 

“Come here,” Len said again, and tugged Barry closer. He sat back and opened his legs, encouraging Barry to climb on. Seeing Barry fully, even in the black suit, didn’t rekindle any of that panic. Len needed control to feel safe and sane again, but he had it. He had it even beneath Barry’s weight straddling his hips and settling into his lap. 

Len unzipped the suit from neck to navel, pushed the edge of fabric from Barry’s left shoulder, and felt that warm, smooth skin. Barry shivered in his grasp—a good shiver. 

They reached for each other and the kiss was desperate—for different reasons for both of them. Len didn’t know Barry’s reasons, but he could feel the gnawing hunger in the way Barry clung to him with strong fingers curled in his shirt. 

They hungered for each other when they were most damaged. That was new to Len, something he’d never experienced with anyone else. When he was damaged, he wanted no one around to see it. But now, he wanted Barry to remain right where he was, and knew that against all odds, Barry sought out him instead of his friends.

Something must have happened again. Something always happened to send Barry running here. Without a catalyst, would Barry still want Len? Len doubted it. He doubted anyone could want him without getting something in return. But quid pro quo—that’s how the world worked. That’s how Len’s world always worked. And that was okay if he got to have Barry. 

Len pushed the suit from Barry’s other shoulder, trapping his arms until Barry fought to pull them free from the sleeves and returned to wrap strong bare limbs around Len’s neck. His chest and back were burning hot from the suit. It felt invigorating against Len’s skin. He needed a sense of control back, and he had it here with the raw power beneath his palms that was his to command. 

Len spun them, dropped Barry back on the bed, and shifted until they were laid out properly with Barry spread beneath him, bare-chested with the black suit only on from the waist down. Len wedged a knee between Barry’s legs to wriggle in closer, but for all the want and wildness in Barry’s eyes, there was a deep sorrow Len found there that stung him. 

Len paused. He didn’t want to command Barry. Not anymore than he wanted to be commanded. This power was too precious to rule over; he wanted to feel it around him, through him, and in him, and know that he was part of something greater. Len wanted to share that power with Barry, and it wasn’t even his to share. But then he always was a thief deep down. 

Barry could overpower Len at any time, whenever he wanted. He wasn’t harsh and brutal, no, but he could be. He could be a nightmare so easily. But there he lay, beneath Len, just wanting to be touched, and adored, and lo…

Len was getting lost in Barry, dangerously lost; caught in the labyrinth, no way out. And that should have bothered him. Should have terrified him. But this, for once, didn’t scare him at all. 

“Something happened again,” Len whispered, one hand reaching for Barry’s face. 

Barry brought a hand up to grasp Len’s wrist as if he might pull him away, but he just held his fingers there, gently, unsure. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Barry—”

“Not this time. Okay? I just want you to touch me.” Barry pulled Len’s hand down after all, but slowly, trailing it along his neck and down the center of his chest. “I just want to forget. Please. Help me forget for a little while.”

Len stared at his hand being dragged lower and lower down Barry’s stomach. “Forget what?”

“Everything,” Barry breathed. “Just for a while. Please. You always take care of me.” He grinned, and it was half forced, half honestly fond with amusement. “They might even revoke your villain card if you’re not careful.”

Len smiled back at him, but he held his hand stationary when Barry brought it to the edge of the suit. “Never. I’ve racked up quite a few points over the years to hold my position indefinitely.” He splayed his hand out low on Barry’s belly, and turned it so that his fingers slipped inside the suit. 

Barry bucked up as if to will Len to reach in deeper, take him in hand, and Len was tempted, so very tempted. He let his hand sink inside the strange black fabric…

“No fair…taking care of me again,” Barry said, neck arching back when Len’s fingertips grazed his growing erection. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Len whispered.

Barry grasped Len around the shoulders and rolled them, reversing their positions and dislodging Len’s hand almost at Flash speed, but not quite enough to disorient him. He still took a moment to blink up at Barry, get his bearings, and his pause caused the grin on Barry’s face to falter. He pulled up. “I’m not trying to hold you down.”

Len’s own smile grew strained. He was fine now. He didn’t mind Barry being rough and manhandling him when he was ready for it. “It's okay. Just need to know what I'm in for,” he assured the kid, relaxing beneath Barry now that he could see him. “What do you want, Scarlet? What do you want to do for me?” 

Barry planted his knees on either side of Len’s hips then scooted down so he could tug the tangled jeans the rest of the way off. He returned for the T-shirt, and old anxiety coiled in Len’s gut, but he pushed it aside. Barry knew, he’d seen, it was okay. So even though Len was tense, he let Barry remove him of the shirt, leaving him in just his underwear. The worst of the scars were on his chest and back, where it was easiest to hide them from curious teachers or neighbors. Of course a few were from things other than Lewis, but most… Most were his handiwork. 

Barry dipped down and Len thought he was going for his shorts, maybe to suck him into his mouth through the fabric, which he wouldn’t have complained about, but instead Barry tugged just lightly at the underwear to reveal Len’s hips a little further. There was a particularly jagged scar on the left side in the dip in the bone. Barry kissed it. Licked it. Sucked…

Len moaned and bucked up. The scar tissue itself had almost no feeling, but the edge of skin around it, right around all of them, was hypersensitive. Usually, Len hated that about them, because he didn’t want to feel them, didn’t want to remember they were there, and so he kept them covered, hidden, untouched. But Barry…he went right for them like he treasured every inch of puckered skin. 

“They’re not ugly, you know,” Barry said, licking around the edges of one on his stomach, before moving to a smaller scar on Len’s ribs. “You don’t have to hide them. Not from me. I want to touch them…and tease them…until they’re you’re favorite thing for me to play with.”

Len snorted but then gasped when Barry moved from sucking on one scar, to his nipple, then to another scar that he grazed with his teeth. “I doubt…they would ever be my _favorite_ thing…for you to play with,” he said as he ground his hips up into Barry’s to show off just how hard he was. 

Barry’s giggle was devious, but still somehow sweet, not menacing. “I’ll show you. I want you to soak through your shorts before I take them off of you.”

Len moaned as Barry licked lightly around the scar along his clavicle, similar to Lisa’s but closer to his shoulder. Soaking his underwear wouldn’t be a problem; his tip was so wet already. Only this kid could have him chasing pleasure after running from a panic attack. He wondered briefly why he’d never let someone else adore his scars like this, but he knew the answer. No one else had ever wanted to. They avoided them. Sneered at them. But Barry took the time to worship them. 

Eventually, Barry worked his way up Len’s neck, where he’d no doubt leave another hickey with how firmly he sucked at that spot Len loved, right beneath his ear. Hartley, Mick, Lisa—they could all say whatever they wanted; Len could care less when it felt that good. 

When Barry sucked his way back down Len’s chest, he found every scar he’d missed, every one he could reach. He gave each of them the same languid attention as the first until Len was shaking for all the right reasons, and wishing Barry would fuck him already, or suck his cock, or both.

Occasionally, Len would get lost, distracted by the scar Barry focused on. He’d remember how he got it, how much it had hurt, how much he hated it even now for what it represented. But Barry never faltered, and the memories seemed to banish in the haze of pleasure caused by his lips, and teeth, and tongue. 

Jagged glass, hard edges, and cigarette burns were all erased by the wet trails left in Barry’s wake. Len wanted to tell the kid how he’d gotten each one, when he’d never told anyone about all of them. He opened his mouth several times, but it always closed again as he stared at the ceiling, or focused on the brilliant lights of his city.

“I don’t need to know their stories,” Barry said, as if reading his mind. “I know. I know _enough_. We’re both battered and broken, Len. You just wear your scars on the outside where they’re easier to find. But I know these aren’t the worst of them.”

They weren’t. They weren’t even close. The worst of them were buried deep, etched into Len’s blood and bones. They couldn’t be kissed away. They couldn’t be hidden or forgotten, because only Len saw them, and he saw them every day, crystal clear. 

The first tear startled Len, warm and slow moving down his cheek. He sucked in a breath and realized how choked his throat was from holding the tears back. He breathed—in, out—tried to relax, but it only allowed more tears to slip free. 

Gasping as it all caught up with him, Len almost pulled up, pulled away, but then he looked down his body at Barry and the expression on the kid’s face froze him where he lay. 

Barry didn’t look smug or disgusted or even as startled as Len felt; he looked conflicted, like no, he hadn’t expected for Len to cry, maybe didn’t believe the thief was capable of such a thing, but Barry was torn up inside too. He stared, in awe of the slow streaks marring Len’s face. 

Barry crawled up until he hovered over Len, staring at the tears like they mesmerized him. When Barry surged down to kiss Len, he wasn’t prepared for it, but the attack didn’t scare him, didn’t throw him back into the clutches of panic. Barry was everything Len needed and wanted to cling to in that moment, and so he did. He coiled his arms around Barry’s back and held him skin to skin. Tongues dancing. Hips rocking even with both of them still covered below the waist. 

Len rolled them again, back the other direction, but not entirely, not so he could get on top of Barry, but so they could lie side by side, centered on the bed. He broke from the kiss to gasp for breath. Barry moved his kisses down Len's neck with sharp nips of his teeth, and Len whimpered. He pulled and kicked at his underwear to get them down his legs and off. Barry did the same with his suit, and Len helped, until nothing remained but skin between them, and it was barely enough to hang on and grind forward. 

Lips sought each other’s mouths and necks. Hands grazed each other’s chests, and hips, and cocks. They writhed, sharing the wetness between them, caught up in the moment and gasping together without thought of anything but friction— _more friction_. 

Barry’s moans were sweet and filthy all at once, his muscles taut and powerful as he wrapped around Len like coiling vines and wouldn’t let go. For once, Len didn’t want to be let go. He wanted to get lost, wanted to be enveloped. He could feel Barry quivering, and slowly, slowly start to vibrate as their climaxes built on each other. They kissed, and kissed, and even Barry’s tongue tingled with his power. Foreheads pressed together, eyes open but blinking blearily, Len saw something he’d only caught glimpses of before in battle. 

Barry’s eyes—sparking yellow with lightning. They were so _beautiful_ like that. 

Legs tangled, bodies practically fused together, they rocked and thrust into each other until Barry thrummed and Len cried out as he came. Barry’s voice was a magnified echo as he said again and again, “Len…Len… _Len_ …” before he came as well, and the tremors in Barry’s body stilled. 

Their panting breaths sounded loudly throughout the room. They’d never done anything quite like that before. No real technique, no one taking charge, just both of them letting go until they found the end they sought together with only skin against skin. 

The tears in Len’s eyes hadn’t fully dried, but before he could reach up to brush them away, Barry reached up for him. His touch was gentle for such a powerful being. 

Rare and precious indeed. Because lesser men with power like Barry’s abused it and used it against others. But Barry held back even when he had the right to punch the other guy as hard as he could. The one thing that scared the kid more than anything else was crossing that line and not being able to come back from it. 

He wouldn’t, Len thought. _He won’t. He’ll never be like me…_ And that was a good thing. That was the way things should be. Just like Len would never be like Barry.

For a few moments, with Barry’s thumbs stroking away Len’s tears, and Len staring into Barry’s eyes that still sparked with traces of yellow, they didn’t speak. But they kissed, and stayed tangled up until the mess between them demanded attention. 

“I got it,” Barry whispered, and only seconds passed, the briefest feeling of being cold and alone on the bed, before the kid was back, wrapping Len up in his arms again and holding him close like a body pillow. At least now they were clean. 

Len almost laughed, but the sound got lost somewhere as he realized that if it had been anyone else, he’d have pushed them away by now and demanded space. Too many minutes like this, and he still would do that, but Barry could get away with things no one else ever had. 

“Sorry,” Barry said, as if right that moment he remembered that Len wasn’t one for touch, especially tight clinging that made him feel trapped. Barry pulled back, but remained lying facing Len, propped up on their sides, parallel. 

Len reached for Barry, because the last thing he wanted was for the kid to turn timid on him. He wasn’t made of glass. Neither of them was. Harder stuff than glass cracked and broke sometimes too. Len grasped the back of Barry’s neck and kissed him. Slower. Softer. Dangerous. 

“I’m sorry about the suit,” Barry said when they pulled apart, eyes downcast.

Len waited for Barry to look up again, then he nodded, because ‘it’s okay’ wasn’t the right answer this time. “Do you want—”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”

“Okay. Suit looks good on you. When I can see it. Meant more for Scudder, I take it.”

“Yeah.” 

“Driving you that crazy, huh?”

“Him,” Barry huffed. “And other things.” They were quiet for a few moments before Barry’s eyes brightened and he refocused on Len. “Hey, what were you going to watch before I came in? You had Netflix up.”

Len raised an eyebrow at him, but decided to be honest. “ _Big Trouble in Little China._ ”

“Really?” Barry laughed. “I love that movie. Especially the end, when Kurt Russell gets knocked out at the start of the battle, and everyone else kicks butt without him. Classic.”

 _Damn._ Len was in so much trouble with this kid. He couldn’t stop the offer from tumbling past his lips, “You got somewhere better to be right now?” but that was the most dangerous offer of all, because it was so much more than fucking.

Barry blinked at him, blank for a moment, before he smiled. “Not tonight.”

They extricated themselves from the bed slowly and dressed in sleep clothes—Barry borrowing some of Len’s like he had the other day. Len’s shirt and jeans went into the hamper; Barry’s new suit was folded and set on the end table in the living room, while the boots he’d never taken off were placed on the rug by the door where they belonged. 

Len enjoyed the silly and private joke they shared, the way he glared at Barry the entire time he walked the boots to the door; the way Barry rolled his eyes but apologized as if the boots were far worse than how Barry had acted when he first showed up. 

Len made popcorn and grabbed some sodas from the fridge while Barry pulled up the movie, because, “It’s a movie, Barry. Some things are mandatory,” though Barry mentioned that some Milk Duds would be nice too. Len pressed the soda he’d been about to offer him to the side of Barry’s neck, making him hiss and jump up from the sofa. 

“ _Jerk._ Sheesh. No wonder you’re Captain Cold.”

“My diabolical plans with frigid props know no bounds, Scarlet.” 

Barry erupted into a full-on belly laugh at that, and it was the most soothing sound Len had heard in ages. 

Len pressed ‘play’, and with the popcorn in Barry’s lap, and a drink for each of them, Len claimed the end of the sofa, only to find himself cornered as the speedster snuggled up against him. 

Barry stiffened almost immediately and pulled away. “Is this okay?”

Normally no. Normally _never_. “You’re fine, kid,” Len said, and opened his arm in offering. 

_You’re wonderful. More than I’ll ever deserve._

XXXXX

Barry was being stupid again. He should have left after the sex. Should have left _before_ the sex. Should have never gone to Snart’s apartment in the first place, not when he was in such a bad place, the same sort of bad place he’d been in when he almost hurt people. And he’d done the same to Snart. Hurt him. Scared him. Barry knew it wasn’t an act, wasn’t anything planned, not this time. Not with the way Snart had been shaking. 

But as bad as Barry had felt about what he’d done, the rest of the night had turned out so…nice. Barry had just wanted to make things up to Snart a little; he hadn’t meant to make the man cry. Never even dawned on him that it was possible. Just showing affection to Snart’s scars had made the usually buttoned-up, collected, always-in-control man come apart at the seams and reveal the soft, red-blooded heart beneath—not ice; not empty space. So when it was all over, Barry hadn’t wanted to leave. 

In some ways he’d still gotten his family night TV marathon, only it was with Snart, and instead of TV, they’d watched Kurt Russell movies until Barry almost fell asleep halfway through _Escape from LA._

“First one’s better anyway,” Snart had said, before nudging Barry awake and trudging them both up the stairs. 

Barry knew he shouldn’t stay with Snart again, but he didn’t want to go home. It had been so nice for a while. Pretending. Like they were dating. Like they were normal. Snart wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t robbing people. Maybe it wasn’t all an act. Maybe he was just broken like Barry. 

But that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t last. A heist here or there, that wouldn’t bother Barry. He didn’t care about thefts. He cared about people, not property damage. But something…something would mess it all up someday. Snart. Barry himself. Reality. This wasn’t real. It was just a good time. Just about getting Snart to want him, and need him, and…love him. And maybe Barry was winning that battle. Maybe Snart would be devastated when Barry left. Maybe Barry would enjoy that devastation like he wanted to destroy something with his fists so much of the time. 

Maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted. But he didn’t want any of it to end yet. Not yet. He wanted Snart for just a little longer. _Just a little longer…_

“Hey, Cisco,” Barry said when he entered the Labs the next morning, wearing the stealth suit, but walking in with the mask off and the rest visible. He zipped into the clothes he’d left there last night and held out the folded up suit to Cisco. 

Cisco was showered and dressed in new clothes since yesterday, so he clearly hadn’t slept at the labs, but he looked like he hadn’t slept well. He also wore a frown as he sat in his customary roller chair, and kept his arms crossed until Barry set the suit down on the desk instead. 

Barry _had_ left his phone behind. Maybe Cisco had answered it. Maybe Joe or Iris had gotten a hold of him some other way. At least Caitlin didn’t appear to be around. 

“What?” Barry asked, not in the mood to antagonize, but not feeling up to defending himself either, though he knew he had a barrage coming at him, and he couldn’t exactly stay over at Snart’s indefinitely. 

“I forgot to tell you something before you left last night,” Cisco said, completely straight-faced, arms still crossed, staring Barry down. “Just thought you should know. I already built comms into the suit.” He tilted his head at The Invisible Man. 

“Okay.” Barry shrugged, not really sure where Cisco was going with this, but still fairly certain an unseen axe was about to drop. “Great?”

Cisco sighed. As his arms finally relaxed, he looked simultaneously pissed off and disappointed. “ _And_ ,” he said, emphasizing the worst was yet to come, “they were on last night. _Scarlet_.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad shorter, considering how long the last one was, but this one had to end here, lol. More soon, I swear! And thank you all so much for everything. Your comments truly fuel me into each new chapter. This story means so very much to me, and I have ALOT more in store for you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry faces Cisco's wrath and tries to come to terms with how he left things with his family, while the night of the heist finally comes to fruition for Len, with an unexpected participant to throw everything into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, wow, okay, look at me go. If I can post in less than a week each time, I feel about right. ;-) Plus I have a busy weekend ahead, so wanted to get this done for you. Be prepared, folks, this leads into some, uhh...serious shit going down soon, but maybe not quite the way you're expecting.

The blood drained from Barry’s face. Shit. _Shit_. “Cisco—”

“What the _hell_ , Barry? Snart? You’re screwing Leonard Snart?!” Cisco erupted as if he’d been holding in his emotions since the moment Barry walked in. “After you jumped down my throat for saying you shouldn’t hate him? What _was_ that? Just to throw me off. Some kinda act?”

“What? _No_.” Barry surged toward Cisco, causing him to wheel back like he didn’t want to be anywhere near Barry right now. “None of it was an act,” _except for when I’m with him_ , “I blew up that night because it touched a nerve, okay? I still thought I _did_ hate him then.”

“When you were already sleeping with him?” Cisco wrinkled his nose.

Barry couldn’t deny that; he’d been honest with Cisco and Caitlin about finding a lover since the start, even if they hadn’t known his identity. “Yes.”

“And now you, what? _Don’t?_ Or you still hate him and just don’t care?”

Barry’s mouth opened only to hang agape, silent. Did he hate Snart? Did he still want to go through with his plan to break the man’s heart? Either way he couldn’t tell Cisco that; he wouldn’t understand. He’d just look more disgusted at Barry than he already was. 

Because it was awful, wasn’t it? What he planned to do? It was despicable. Cruel…

“Barry?” Cisco snapped him back to the moment, fervent and desperate looking, but not angry anymore, not really.

Barry turned away from Cisco, pressed his hands to the desk around the dark Flash suit, and despised it for a moment for everything it represented, before he turned back around. He leaned against the desk, and stared at the floor between him and Cisco. “It’s complicated. And I know you probably think it’s dangerous and stupid, because it’s Snart, and whether I hate him or not, I shouldn’t trust him, but if he was just using this to get one over on me, he’s had me vulnerable plenty of times to make a move.”

Cisco let the silence linger for a moment before he said, “If you’ve been sleeping with him since what happened with Camouflage, I believe you. But it’s not only about that, Barry.” 

“It’s not?” Barry finally looked up again.

“Yeah, okay, so trusting Snart at all after everything he put us through, that’s a little hard for me to swallow,” Cisco shrugged, then immediately cringed at his choice of words. “But it also means you lied to us. Repeatedly. _Again_.”

“I never lied.” Barry pushed from the desk. “I told you I was seeing someone. I told you it was just sex. I even told you it was a guy.” 

The incredulity on Cisco’s face would have been comical in any other situation. “Don’t start with me about withholding information versus lying when we’re talking about _Snart_. It’s not the same thing, and you know it. This isn’t some sugar daddy or creep we’d tell you to steer clear of for your own good. He’s a _supervillain_. Which is why,” Cisco held up a hand to stop the protest Barry wasn’t even sure he had ready, “I’m going to be honest with you too.”

Oh god. Barry had been so caught up in the idea of Cisco knowing about him and Snart, he’d completely forgotten what else his friend might have overheard. Had Cisco eavesdropped on everything? Even when Barry came close to…when he’d _almost_ …

“Lisa facebooked me last night.”

“Huh?” Barry had clearly been too much in his head to have heard that right. 

Slowly, Cisco rolled back toward the desk, and Barry pivoted out of the way to give him room to reach the computer. “Lisa Snart, under a dummy account as Lisa Wynters, facebooked me last night. No friend request or anything, just a PM. Which, umm…might have started a conversation. I was going to tell you last night!” he added quickly, as if Barry would have chided him right then. “That’s part of why I wanted you to test the suit—I was working up the nerve to confess to you. Then you ran off like you couldn’t get away fast enough, and I got my… _earful_.” He shuddered. 

“Wait,” Barry perched beside the computer but didn’t yet read the conversation Cisco had pulled up, “how much did you overhear? For my own sanity.” 

Cisco’s nose wrinkled again as he looked at Barry. “Dude, like I ever want to hear what Snart’s ‘O’ face sounds like. Oh god…” he blanched, suddenly green around the edges, “why did I put that image in my head…?”

Barry fought a twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Cisco…”

“I stopped listening about the time you said you’d do unspeakable things to Captain Cold wearing _my_ suit, thank you very much.” Cisco dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. “The real Flash suit better not have been anywhere near him at any point unless he was fully dressed and aiming a gun at you.”

Most of the remaining tension released from Barry’s shoulders. Cisco hadn’t overheard how far Barry had gone, or any of Snart’s breakdown. Good. That was good.

“ _Barry_.”

“I got it. The Flash suit remains unsullied,” Barry said, hands raised in placation, “I promise.” Never mind that Barry had worn the suit over to Snart’s once with _plans_ to sully it. “Now, come on. Let me see what happened with Lisa.”

The conversation over Facebook wasn’t anything for Cisco to feel guilty about. Mostly it was just Lisa asking, quite innocently, how Cisco was doing, and Cisco constantly evading offering up anything concrete while trying unsuccessfully to suss out ulterior motives. 

Finally, Lisa said, _Truth? Lenny’s been seeing some new boytoy on the sly. Has me wondering what a better offer might look like._

_Better offer than what?_

_Everything._

_Surrre, Glider. Like you’d ever be able to give up being a thief, or your brother for that matter._

_You’re probably right. See ya around, cutie_ , she’d ended the conversation abruptly and signed off.

“Imagine my surprise when I found out said boytoy is actually _you_ ,” Cisco said, though Barry wondered if the grimace on his face had more to do with how things had ended with Lisa than anything between Barry and Snart. 

Lisa wasn’t a bad person. Not really. Of course Barry knew that. Who wouldn’t have grown up a little rough around the edges with a father like Lewis? It’s a wonder the Snart siblings weren’t both serial killers. 

And yet, at one point, that was close to how Barry had thought of Snart. The man had killed people. A good number of people over the years, and probably several that had never been attributed to him, given how good he was at getting away with his crimes. Sure, they had almost all been bad people, but where was the line? That’s something Barry had been asking himself a lot lately, as that line grew fainter and fainter on the ground beneath him. 

But doing bad things, making bad choices, that wasn’t supposed to be where things ended. People were meant to have second chances. If they wanted them. If they tried to change. Like Oliver. Like _Barry_. 

Maybe Snart too. 

“She might have meant it, ya know,” Barry said when, after they’d both been silent for a while, Cisco didn’t break the quiet, but continued staring at the computer screen. 

“I know,” Cisco said, hands limp in his lap. “I just don’t know if I’m up for the risk. Even for the hottest woman I’ve ever met in person. Definitely the hottest who's ever looked at me the way she does. Plus she’s actually pretty funny. And clever. And _smart_ , like, all that stuff she spouted when she honey-potted me, she totally researched and understood, even if it’s not a field she’s interested in, ya know?” 

Barry couldn’t resist an amused smile, which caused Cisco to shake his head and adjust himself in his chair.

“Anyway…your boyfriend would probably ice me for even thinking of taking her out.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Barry rolled his eyes, since Cisco’s tone was teasing more than condemning.

“Just sleeping with the enemy, then?”

“That was the plan…” Barry let his mind drift to the encounters with Snart that hadn’t only been about sex, like staying over at his apartment watching action movies until all hours, snuggled on the sofa. That was not nemeses or fuckbuddy behavior. 

“Look,” Cisco said, voice dropping to a timid, serious timber, “I am totally on board with you exploring your dark side if you’re sure you know what you’re doing, and being careful, especially if it’s helping…everything that’s been going on.” He gestured vaguely at Barry in general. “But _is it_? Helping? Or is he just another complication you’re going to have to overcome when this is over?”

Barry knew the real answer, even if he didn’t want to admit it. The sex, like Iris had pointed out so succinctly, was just a temporary high, one that honestly made him feel worse when he was without it, like an addict. But the other things Snart provided him, a part of that peace lingered long after they were together. 

Which was silly, because it was just sharing meals, and talking, and spending time together, all things he could do with his real friends. Barry didn’t understand why being with Snart was as if he could have everything he needed from friends and family, and something else too, something he couldn’t define and had never felt with anyone else. 

“I know I need to end it,” Barry said, before his eyes drifted past Cisco to the glass on the far wall that had so recently been cracked. It was fixed now from when Barry had kicked the hospital bed into it, replaced with a new, unmarred pane. He hadn’t noticed until now. If only people could be fixed as easily. “But,” he looked back at Cisco, “I want a little longer with him. A few more weeks, that’s all. He does help. More than I ever expected he could. When I have a good day, most of the time it’s because of him. I know that probably sounds crazy…”

“A little,” Cisco nodded, but then smiled, “but nah, I get it. When I push aside my general irritation for the guy, I _was_ the one telling you he’s not all bad a couple weeks ago. And I’d be a hypocrite if I told you to stay away from him when I…might have been considering exploring my own bad idea.”

He nodded at the computer screen and they shared a smile before both expressions faltered.

“Do you really think she could ever stop being a bad guy?” Cisco asked.

“Maybe. Do you think Snart…?” Barry couldn’t finish the question.

“I don’t know, man. But if that ever happens? No double dates.” He grinned. 

Barry laughed. “Deal.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cisco asked quietly. “When you ran out of here last night…”

The question made Barry shiver as he thought back on the night’s events—on his outburst at Wally, Iris, and Joe. How he’d acted with Snart before he snapped out of his anger. His gaze drifted until he focused again on the mended glass, ready with the usual canned response of _I’m fine. I’ll be fine._ But he was so tired of lying. 

“I’m not,” he said, surprised but comforted by his honestly. “I’m not okay. I’m trying…but I think I’ve kept some things in for so long, I don’t know how to let them out without exploding. It’s like every resentment and insecurity I’ve ever felt is right under the surface all the time. And god, that must sound so selfish when I’m The Flash,” he laughed—falsely, miserably. “The local superhero, who the whole city loves, and I’m complaining about bad moods. I don’t have the right to be this messed up when other people have had it so much worse than me.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Cisco broke in with firm authority, “there are no rulebooks out there that say only people who look miserable and have a tough life deserve to be depressed. It doesn’t work that way. Just because you have a good job, and a crazy night job, and friends and family who seriously, seriously, man, _love you_ —and ya know, being marginally attractive helps, I’m sure,”—Barry laughed—“that doesn’t mean you can’t be unhappy. If everything was black and white…” he shrugged, “we wouldn’t need superheroes.”

And that…that’s what Barry always wanted to believe, but most days it was hard to see himself as anything but a disappointment. He nodded back at Cisco, and smiled, but damn it, he was getting choked up; he could feel the lump of sorrow in his throat and couldn’t stop it. 

He tried to turn away, to wipe away the tears without making them too obvious, but all too quickly Cisco was on his feet. He pulled Barry from the desk, and half of Barry wanted to resist, because everyone was always taking care of him when _he_ was supposed to be the one saving _them_ , but it felt so nice to have his friend hold him. 

Barry choked a sob into Cisco’s shoulder. He wished this was easier, wished everything was easier. “I’m sorry…”

“You can apologize as many times as you need to, man, but my reply is always gonna be the same. I’m here. Whenever you need me. It’ll be okay, Barry. It will.”

 _Someday. Someday it will._ Barry just had to believe that.

He held on for several moments longer, then sniffled as he pulled back. “Thanks. I, uhh…better check my phone. I kinda made a mess of things last night before I left Joe’s.”

“Go, do what you gotta do,” Cisco said, dropping back into his chair. “I’ll take care of…” he grimaced as he looked at The Invisible Man. “Do I need to sanitize this thing?”

Barry snorted. Then took a moment to consider that. “Uhhh...maybe just to be safe?”

“Urg, you so owe me for this. _Scarlet_ ,” he added teasingly again, and somehow it made things lighter. A little of the truth being out in the open wasn’t as disastrous as Barry had feared.

He laughed again when Cisco picked up the suit with his thumb and index finger as if it was diseased, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and exited the cortex. Checking for messages, since he’d put his phone away without really looking at it initially, Barry prepared himself for the worst, for some twenty odd text message from Joe or maybe more. But when he swiped his lock screen, only one voicemail blinked at him. It was from Iris. 

Barry walked down the hallway aimlessly, heading for the pipeline on autopilot as he held the phone to his ear and listened to her message. 

“Hey, Barr. I hope you listen to this. I hope you’re not so angry that you delete it. But if you do…I’ll just have to leave you another one. 

“Wherever you are tonight, I hope you’re safe. And that you know, no matter what you might think we’re feeling right now, you can always come home. You are always welcome home, Barry. 

“Whenever you run out like that, you make me think I’m never going to see you again, and you…you don’t get to do that, okay? You don’t get to leave and never come back. Because you _are_ family, and we love you so much, Barry. I love you so much…”

The tears so present in her words made Barry’s own spring up in his throat. He leaned against the wall of the pipeline when he reached it. 

“We’ll give you time, Barry, we know you need time, some space, but please…please talk to me when you’re ready. I’m not giving up on you. I’ll never give up on you. I’m not letting you sulk for six months again, not again. You’re my best friend, and I love you, _I love you_. Maybe not the way I loved Eddie, but do you think that diminishes it? Do you think my love for Eddie and my love for Dad doesn’t equal out? It’s not any different with you. Or Wally. You have a place in my heart that’s all yours, Barry, and it has nothing to do with obligation.

“I have never been so lonely as I was when you were in that coma, even with Eddie beside me. Other than those six months after the singularity when I didn’t have either of you. Please don’t make me lose you again, Barry. Please…”

He waited for her to say something else, for some obvious sign-off, but she just let her words trail, breathed out shakily a few more times, and hung up. 

Barry sunk to the floor, sitting cross-legged with his phone in his lap. He shifted, because something in his jeans pocket was stabbing him, and when he pulled it out to inspect it, he found the bottle of pills from Caitlin. He’d shoved them away when he got dressed without really thinking about it. 

Caitlin said to take one whenever he hit a low point; now definitely counted. Without any water to wash it down, he swallowed the pill thickly, then set the bottle aside and stared at his phone. Sitting against the wall, alone in the pipeline, that familiar hum all around him, he eventually summoned the nerve to hit redial on Iris’s number. She picked up after the first ring. 

“Barry?”

“Hey, Iris.”

They talked for what must have been hours before the crick in Barry’s back grew too bad to ignore, and he felt the need for food and a shower. This time he’d told Iris everything— _other_ than about Snart. That tidbit was just for him—and Cisco, but Barry knew his secret was safe with his friend. Once he decided what to do about Snart, then maybe he’d tell Iris about him. For now, it was enough to just talk and not try to hide any of the things that had erupted out of him at dinner. 

He honestly couldn’t say if it was the pill he’d taken, Iris’s kind ear, the night he’d spent with Snart, or all of the above combined that did it, but when he finally left the Labs, he felt lighter than he had since before the singularity. 

XXXXX

“One more time,” Len said, staring at the collection of gear laid out on the large table in the safe house. A few weeks ago it had been covered in blueprints. Now those plans were ingrained in Len’s mind, and the table was filled with everything they’d need to have the Coast City Diamond gift wrapped and in their possession by nightfall.

Lisa groaned. “Again? Lenny, you are such a slave driver. Can we break for dinner already? I’m wasting away over here, and the pizza’s getting cold.” She’d been bad-tempered all day, which was unusual for her with a heist looming. 

“Mmm, Gino’s Pizza and a diamond heist. Brings back memories,” Mick reminisced one of their earlier heists from nearly twenty years back—a home invasion on Len’s twenty-fifth birthday, taking a diamond ring from the safe of some old broad who hadn’t worn it in years. Looked better in Lisa’s collection anyway. “Better get it over with, Goldie. You know he won’t budge til we’ve inventoried every last piece for this job in triplicate.” 

Mick had taken to calling Lisa ‘Goldie’ ever since she earned her Golden Glider moniker from Cisco. She liked it, and hearing it prompted her to call Mick ‘Mickey’ in return, which he liked more than he let on. In fact, he let on that he hated it, but Len knew better. Mick had a soft spot for nicknames. 

Len wanted to refute the ‘triplicate’ remark, before he realized this would indeed be the third time they’d inventoried everything. Once they finished dinner, they’d only have ninety minutes until the guard shift changed. They had to be in position twenty minutes before that to ensure they entered the scene at the right point in the new guard’s schedule. 

“One more time,” Len said again, walking forward to tap his gun. “Cold gun. Usage minimum to avoid ice residue. Cold field only if Flash shows up.” Which Len sorely hoped would be the case.

“Heat gun,” Mick tapped his gun in kind. “Heat field also only for Red, but I get to torch the paintings on the north wall.”

Len nodded. Mick always had to have something to set on fire, so Len made sure there were options to accommodate that. The north wing wasn’t likely to burn out past the paintings, so the chance of the fire spreading was slim to none. 

“Gold gun’s for disabling surveillance and security, no civilians,” Lisa joined in. “Lowest setting so most of the evidence will disintegrate by morning. Gas can for the guard,” she moved on.

“Cold gun to neutralize the gas,” Len added. 

“Stupid comms from the kid,” Mick grumbled as he gestured at their ear pieces.

“To keep track of each other,” Len reminded him. “And the rest of our gear for safety and showmanship,” he spread his arm out to encompass the goggles, gloves, and other aspects of their personas. “Anything else you’re bringing along, no matter how mundane, tell me now.”

Mick huffed as if they hadn’t gone through this routine for every heist they’d ever carried out since their first. “Got my lighter. Not partin’ with it. Nothin’ else.”

“Is my compact okay in case I need to freshen up?” Lisa poured on the oozing, synthetic charm, though Len knew she likely _would_ have her compact and lipstick along. He appreciated that she always made an effort to look good on a heist. Set a precedent. Their father had never understood the necessity of doing things with style. That’s what made them memorable; that’s what made them infamous. 

Len tilted his head at Lisa all the same. “Your head in the game, sis? You seem…distracted.”

Lisa tossed her hair over her shoulder with a scoff, avoiding his gaze a little too long before she looked at him again. “Just hungry. No more distracted than _you_ are lately.” 

Man troubles. Len wondered if it had anything to do with…no, there wasn’t time to pry, but he knew she wouldn’t let him down. “All right,” he nodded, conceding the point and earning a relieved expression from his sister in return. “Grub’s on. We leave in thirty.” 

XXXXX

Barry was not avoiding Captain Singh. He’d just sequestered himself in his lab more than usual to uhh—okay, he was definitely avoiding Captain Singh, hoping the man wouldn’t find his way up the stairs again any time soon. At least lately there had been less heat on him about the Scudder case, since more of the heat was on The Flash. Outwardly, Barry was still responsible, but the captain didn’t know that. 

The Flash had faced Scudder in the open after all, with uniforms and plainclothes all around to bear witness, and had still come up empty. Scudder hadn’t shown his face since the encounter, at least not long enough to be captured. But Singh never relied on The Flash to save the day, or took for granted his efforts against meta humans. Singh expected his officers and personnel to do the real job. 

As one of those personnel, Barry still had nothing more to go on than where he’d been a week ago. He almost wished Scudder would rob someplace new already. The thief had to be planning things carefully for his next heist. 

Of course there was someone at the station other than Singh that he’d been trying to avoid. 

“Hey, Barr,” Joe said as he entered the lab. “What are you still doing here? You know it’s almost 8PM, right? You eat yet?”

“8PM?” Barry glanced at his watch, amazed how quickly the time had flown since his lunch break. Usually he spent so much time watching the clock, his work day took forever. Today his mind had been elsewhere whenever he wasn’t occupied with cases. 

Talking with Iris had helped, but he hadn’t really talked things out with Joe yet, other than submitting to a hug when he got home, offering an apology, and hearing Joe’s promise that Barry would always be his son, and he would always be there for him. Barry could tell when Joe was keying himself up to broach a difficult subject though, and two days of tensely passing each other in the hallways at home had been more than enough to tip the balance. 

“Did you want to grab something to eat, Joe?” Barry said, smiling hopefully at his father as he pulled his blazer from the back of his chair and swung it around his shoulders. “You can drop me off at the Labs after. I was gonna do a quick patrol tonight in case Scudder shows.”

“Sure…yeah, we should do that,” Joe said. He leaned back against Barry’s desk, indicating not at all subtly that he wasn’t planning on moving any time soon. 

Barry let out a slow, steadying exhale before grabbing his messenger bag. He faced Joe off the side of his desk, more than prepared for the coming lecture. “I know I haven’t made up for the things I said yet, Joe, and there isn’t much I can do before Wally—”

“Make up for—” Joe cut off sharply and shook his head. “Barry, you don’t have to make up for anything. You don’t owe me. You apologized plenty. Yeah, I hope you do talk to Wally, but I’m the one who didn’t see how much you’d been hurtin’. I’m the one who thought leaving you out of the loop with Wally moving in was doing you a favor, instead of realizing it’d make you feel even more disconnected.”

“Joe—”

“No, Barry, let me say this.” He seemed about to stand taller, but then deflated as he looked at Barry mournfully. “There’s one thing I haven’t brought up yet. And I don’t wanna push, but damn it, I have to on this one.” His eyes glistened; there were few things that chipped away at what little armor Barry still wore than seeing Joe cry over him. “Don’t you ever say something like what you said that night. That you wish you could erase yourself from our lives. Don’t…don’t you ever say that.”

“Joe, I…” Barry felt a chill shudder through him as he processed what Joe must be thinking. “I didn’t mean—”

“I sure as hell hope not, but you still said it, and that…that scared me, son. _That_ scared me, not your powers, not how angry you were. We don’t blame you for any of the things that have happened, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not a damn thing. No—not even to have been able to raise Wally from the start. Because the way things turned out,” that sad, sympathetic smile Iris had inherited so unabashedly strained across his face, “I got two sons instead of one. And I love them both.”

Barry blinked back the tears flooding his eyes as he nodded and laughed shakily, because of course he knew that was the truth, not merely kind words to appease him, but at his lowest it was as if there was two of him, conflicted and arguing inside his head. One half screaming at the other to stop, think— _you don’t mean these things, this isn’t you!_ —while the other couldn’t listen. 

“I love you too, Joe. So much. And I’m sorry. You said I don’t have anything to make up for, but I do. Not just to you, but to Wally too. I’ll talk to him, I promise. I never meant for him to find out about my powers like that…”

“I know, Barr,” Joe said, standing and gripping Barry’s shoulder with that familiar, firm almost-hug that often felt more comforting than a full one somehow. “Honestly, I think Wally’s a little starstruck after learning you’re The Flash.”

Barry huffed. “I doubt that. Can’t be easy to find out your hero is a basket case.”

“Hey,” Joe squeezed his shoulder tighter, “I think you’d be surprised how he sees you now that he understands a bit better what’s been going on. Not even heroes are meant to be perfect, Barry.” At last he let Barry go, and they turned together to head toward the exit. “You gonna be around to help us move him in? Plan was for this week, ya know. Almost got his room ready.”

“Of course,” Barry said, honestly excited, if a little nervous to face Wally for the first time since Friday night. He didn’t want to be a shadow anymore, hiding from his loved ones and himself. “I really am glad he’s moving in, Joe. That wasn’t what upset me. Wally’s a good kid. Of course he is. He’s yours.” He elbowed Joe playfully as they made their way down the stairs. “Plus it’ll give us the chance to get to know each other better. Assuming I can look him in the eyes the next time I see him…”

“Don’t push yourself, Barry,” Joe patted him on the back. “Whatever you can manage. One day at a time, right?”

“Yeah,” Barry sighed, wondering if maybe, now, he could actually do that. “One day at a time.”

He wasn’t oblivious to how things always seemed easier after he had a few good days in a row. He’d even gone all of Monday so far without feeling the need for a pill. What Barry feared was the next trigger that sent him off the rails, whether it be Scudder, some other miss with a villain, or something unexpected. 

Which may have been why Barry was equally anxious and reassured when less than two hours into patrol after a pleasant, laughter-filled dinner with Joe, he got a call from Cisco over his comms. Someone had noticed strange flashes of light coming from the history museum, even though no alarms had been tripped. 

“Could be nothing,” Cisco said, “but given Scudder’s MO, and what you said about seeing flickers when he used his powers…”

 _Given Len’s MO too_ , Barry thought. Scudder wasn’t the only thief who didn’t trip alarms unless he wanted to. “I’ll swing by to get the dark Flash suit just in case,” he said. 

He and Snart had discussed possibly encountering each other with Barry in that suit again, and Snart had assured him that if he had a heist planned—not that he was admitting he did—and if Barry showed up in the invisible suit, he’d be prepared. He always expected a fight when he was on a job. It was the unexpected that had set him off. 

Barry got that, he did. He’d be sure to make things fun— _actually_ fun this time—if Snart was the one breaking into that museum.

“Dark Flash?” the engineer complained. “It’s _The Invisible Man_ , dude. Stop raining on my name parade!” 

Barry chuckled. “Be there in a sec.” 

It was indeed only seconds later that he arrived at the labs and replaced his normal Flash suit for the black one. He was about to turn invisible and head out, when Caitlin stopped him, her smile guarded, hedging as she gently took his arm. 

“What’s up?” Barry smiled, then remembered he already had the mask pulled down, so right now he looked like a sleek, big-eyed bug. He pulled the mask up to at least expose his mouth. 

“It’s nothing, Barry, I just wanted to say…if it’s Scudder,” she sighed, “even if it isn’t, remember that we’re here with you, no matter what happens. It’s okay if you don’t catch him.”

 _No, it isn’t_ , Barry thought, because people could get hurt—people always got hurt when he failed. So far Scudder hadn’t hurt anyone, but Barry couldn’t take that chance, not with someone so powerful. Still, he understood what she meant. He had to keep his wits about him, keep his frustration from leaking out and controlling his actions. He couldn’t exactly stop mid fight to take one of his pills. Maybe he should take one now…

He shook his head, plastered on another smile, then took a breath and let the expression drop to something sadder, realer. “I know. I’ll be fine. The worst he can do, if it’s him, is get one over on me again, which as frustrated as that’ll make me…I can handle. Just keep talking me down if I seem like I’m faltering. You guys always pull me back.” He shrugged and smiled a little brighter because it was true. So far it had always been his friends’ voices that calmed him if nothing else could. 

Caitlin nodded, rubbed his arm supportively, and stepped back. 

Barry pulled the mask down over his mouth again. He tapped the side of his goggle-like eyes to turn on the comms. “Ready when you are, guys,” he said, and with a swift salute of farewell from Cisco, Barry shifted the suit into stealth mode and took off. 

XXXXX

The first fifteen minutes of the plan went off flawlessly. A hole in the building’s defenses made it a breeze to enter through the security team’s own back exit after the old guard left, leaving the new guy in charge for the night—a two minute window before the security protocols rebooted on the door. Len and the others were in, in less than forty-five seconds, with free access to the camera feeds and the rest of the security room without breaking a sweat. 

Lisa golded the console, frying the cameras, but the alarms on the rest of the doors and windows would remain intact. All that meant was that they had to take care of the guard, then exit through the same door they’d entered from when they left. 

The only problem as they darted from the offices into the main building of the museum was the windows. Not large enough for a general passerby to catch sight of people moving about, but enough to draw attention to the light from their guns in a dark building. Which was why timing was always of the essence. 

A few cameras and pressure sensors were completely separate from the main security room—Len had traded a few very worthwhile and very old favors for those updated blueprints. It meant he knew exactly when to tell Lisa to use her gun on the still working cameras, and which tiles in the various rooms needed to be avoided. 

Mick and Lisa didn’t have the locations memorized as well as he did, so he led the way, as preferred, and they stepped where he stepped. Len had to hand it to the little history museum for not slouching on creativity—reminded him of _The Last Crusade_ , and he was Indy seeking the Holy Grail. Or at least a big ass diamond he could keep on display in his favorite safe house. Maybe fence some of the lesser items they’d swipe. This heist was purely for the thrill. 

Len checked his watch, and hushed Mick and Lisa behind him motioning for them to take positions on the opposite side of the doorway that led into the next room. The security guard should be coming from that direction in less than one minute. 

Len had watched the guard during his training for weeks. While the man did practice rounds at off hours, Len had learned his route and his timing, usually with Mick beside him. Given this was the man’s first real run through though, alone in the dark museum, maybe nervous, Len had accounted for both having more time if the guard slouched, or less if he was antsy. Either way they should be perfectly poised for the next stage in the heist. 

Len held up his hand as he listened…listened…and heard the telltale jingle of keys that indicated the guard was coming. He motioned for Lisa to get the gas, while he and Mick held their guns steady, Len on his side of the door, Mick behind Lisa. She slid her gun into its holster and unclipped the gas can from her belt. Len had assigned her this job because she was the quickest, the nimblest. 

He listened… _listened_ …and counted down on his gloved hand—five, four, three, two—

Lisa whirled around the corner and sprayed in a back and forth arch across the open doorway in front of her. The gas can looked like a normal aerosol, but packed much more punch, shooting gas into the room and filling it quickly. They had moments for the guard to breathe in enough of the misty green substance to be knocked out, then neutralize it before it kicked back into the room with them. 

“What the—?!” the guard stammered. More jingling keys and shuffling as he fumbled for his gun, then a clatter as the gun fell to the floor, and a moment later, after a few choked coughs, a thud as the guard followed suit.

Lisa whipped back into place to avoid any backlash from the gas and replaced the can for her gun again, while Len took her spot in front of the door. Being sure to aim straight on, above the collapsed guard on the floor, Len fired his cold gun, freezing the particles of gas mid-air at the maximum setting—absolute zero. The gas didn’t merely dissipate; it fell out of the air like putrid green snow. 

Now unhindered by the gas or any potential collateral damage, Len nodded at Lisa and Mick to follow again. They entered the next room swiftly, bypassing the unconscious guard. Poor guy might lose his job over this, but he’d kept his life.

The diamond was straight forward in the east wing. The room they’d entered was the nexus that split into the last three areas of the building. Lisa turned right to explore the gold collection in the Egypt exhibit. Mick went left to head into the north wing.

The American history section had a collection of paintings depicting the Great Chicago Fire. Mick loved them. So of course he wanted to burn them. Len didn’t question his friend’s choice of catharsis; he had his own quirks, after all. There was one painting Mick planned to keep. It depicted survivors. 

“Remember, we’re connected,” Len indicated his earpiece before moving into the room for specialty items on loan. “Inform each other the second something seems off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mick said, already gone.

Lisa shot Len a smile over her shoulder before disappearing as well. 

“Keep center to avoid the pressure plates. Meet back here in five,” Len said, then bounded forward, feeling the thrill of the chase spurring him on.

The diamond was at the far end of the room, down a short set of steps, inside a glass container with pressure sensors of its own to protect the glass from even being touched. Thankfully the sensors didn’t work if frozen solid. The rest of the room was filled with similar glass cases, many sporting mirrors inside to reflect the items on display that much more visibly. Len’s image bounced back at him from every direction as he moved through the room. 

He kept his eyes and ears open for signs of trouble, any passing cops outside, but he only heard the occasional chatter from Mick and Lisa over the comms. Even in the dark room, his new goggles kept his vision clear, almost but not quite as potent as night vision. It was just as he was about to reach the steps leading down to the diamond that he felt a gust of wind.

Len spun around, finger twitching on the cold field switch. But not yet. Not yet…

Another gust. _Yes_ —an invisible Flash. Barry _had_ warned him. But this time Len was armed. This time he was ready, and very much into the game. He turned his comms off. 

“I was hoping it was you,” Barry’s voice echoed around him from the high ceilings, making it difficult to pinpoint his position. 

“And here I thought you were above cheating,” Len said, circling carefully, making sure he didn’t misstep so close to the stairs and tumble down them.

“A head’s up wasn’t enough?” Barry said—to Len’s left, definitely to the left. 

Len backed up slowly, until the wall was close behind him—

“How ‘bout this then?” 

—and tensed for an attack. But Barry merely rippled into existence a few meters from him, visible in the all black suit. He shimmered like he was covered in sequins when he moved toward Len. 

Len considered firing. Cisco would have built the usual precautions into the suit, thermal dampeners, the whole nine yards, but Barry’s saunter had such a nice, sexy sway to it. So Len aimed more at his lower half. “Careful. Any closer and I’ll take your feet out from under you.”

“Oh really?” Barry purred, hands held up, but steps still carrying him forward. He paused only once he was close enough that they could have touched if Barry outstretched his arm. Then, in the split second Len chose not to fire, Barry flashed forward and had him against the wall, cold gun and wrists pinned harmlessly. 

Sloppy…if Len hadn’t minded getting caught. 

“Love to help you out of that suit again, Scarlet, but I’d need my hands.” He wriggled his fingers and smirked playfully. Glancing at the lines of the suit, the smoothness of the cowl, unlike the red one with its lightning bolts, made him wonder where the communications system lived. “Aren’t you worried your friends will listen in?”

Barry released Len’s wrists but kept the cold gun pressed to the wall. Len used the freedom to reach forward for the seam at Barry’s neck, and folded the mask upward. “Told them it was a false alarm once I was sure it was you,” Barry said when his lips were free. “For all they know, I’m making a quick pass around town and heading home for the night. We’re all alone.”

“Mick and Lisa are in the other rooms,” Len admitted, watching Barry’s lips attentively. “Got about three minutes before they come looking.”

“I can take care of that.”

Len quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“ _Nicely_ ,” Barry assured him, then ducked forward, angling for a kiss that Len allowed him only too eagerly. 

The firm line of Barry’s body snugly outlined in black was welcome and alluring when Len was ready for it. His pulse was already racing from the adrenaline of the heist; Barry’s arrival had him trembling with excitement. 

Barry flicked his tongue at Len’s lips when they pulled apart. “Glider and Heat Wave are suddenly going to find themselves outside in the alley, wondering what happened. Think they’ll come back in after you?”

“Nah. They’ll know it was you, and hightail it. You gonna let them keep their loot?”

Barry tilted his head. “Tell you what, if you have the diamond in your hands by the time I get back, you can keep it. AND…” he leaned forward and added in a sultry whisper, “you can fuck me anywhere you want in the museum.” He left the cold gun for Len to reclaim as he backed away, and bit his bottom lip invitingly before pulling his mask back into place. 

Len shivered. This version of Barry Allen he adored. An added challenge, a worthwhile goal. He’d passed an antique chaise in the section on The French Revolution. Sullying that could be fun, and more comfortable than the floor, a wall, or up against a glass case. 

Mmm…Barry pressed against glass…

“Hey,” Barry said with an audible pout that was no longer visible, “I thought you promised me a three-piece suit for your next heist.”

Len blinked. He’d completely forgotten about that, and he rarely neglected such important details. “Guess I’ve been a bad boy, Flash,” he said, resting his gun against his shoulder. “I owe you one. You go ahead and think long and hard about what you might want from me to make up for it.” He traveled his gaze down the lean line of Barry’s body. The black suit certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. 

A chuckle left the kid, only vaguely muffled by his mask. “You have about thirty seconds, Captain Cold—and that’s being generous,” he said, before he whisked away after Lisa and Mick. 

Len didn’t waste a moment. While he’d turned off his mic, he could still hear his companions through his earpiece, and clearly picked up on the oomphs of them fighting, firing their guns, and being taken out of the building by The Flash. Meanwhile, he set to work on the diamond. Thirty seconds was child’s play. 

He turned down the output on the cold gun and fired at the pane of glass facing him, coating it in frost and increasing the temperature until it started to crack. Then all he had to do was tap the center. It crumbled away like sand without tripping the alarm. The back pane of the case was a mirror like with many of the others, doubling the diamond’s image for its adoring public. As Len reached in to claim his prize, something in the reflection…shimmered. 

He snatched his hand back as the image of the diamond turned foggy, then _empty_ , then was replaced by a grasping hand with a green cuff around its wrist and an orange sleeve that reached right out of the reflection into the case. 

Len was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. But as he stared at the hand that took hold of the diamond, he also heard a voice, powerful and loud like it was coming from all around him. 

“Thanks for the assist, Cold.”

What the _hell_?

It was only when the hand pulled back into the mirror, taking the diamond with it, that Len realized he wasn’t alone. He whipped his head to the right to find that Barry had seen everything, but he clearly had the wrong idea about what it all meant if his clenched fists were any indication. 

“Wait—” Len raised his hand, but by the time he’d finished the gesture, he’d already been slammed into the wall. This time his other hand still had a finger on the trigger of the cold gun, but his wrist pressed to the side at an awkward angle. 

“Thanks?! _Thanks_?!” Barry’s breath puffed hot against Len’s face through the mask. “You were working with Scudder the whole time?!”

“What? _No_ , I—”

“I trusted you!” Barry cried, gripping him too tightly, painfully, as he shook him. “I can’t believe I fell for your act _again_. I knew you deserved it, I knew it…” he muttered as he seethed, shaking in his anger—and what did the kid even mean by that? “Playing all the angles, making a big show of it, while those other heists kept happening all around me, making me look like a _fool_.” 

“Flash, listen to—”

Len cringed when an eruption of noise went off in his ear as Mick and Lisa remembered the comms, and started yelling at him, demanding to know what was happening. Lisa asked if they should head back in, but Mick just huffed and said, “Trust me, Goldie. He don’t need shit if he’s alone with The Flash. Favorite past time of his lately.”

“ _What?_ ” Lisa sputtered. But even if Len could have turned his mic back on to call for help, Barry ripped the device from his ear and the sound went dead. 

“You really had me going, Cold,” he said darkly, close and menacing, and not giving Len any room to breathe. Now would be a good time to turn on the cold field—if only he could move his finger to the switch. “Taking care of the people in your neighborhood. Agreeing not to hurt or kill anyone. Acting like you cared. But that’s all bullshit, isn’t it? In the end, you’re still the one conning _me_.” 

Barry slammed him into the wall harder before Len could answer, making him cough as the air pushed from his lungs in a gasp.

“Was it fun laughing at me with Scudder while I ran around in circles losing _my mind_ trying to catch him?!”

“ _Barry—_ ”

“Well I hope it was, Snart. Because I might not be able to catch _him_ ,” Barry held Len firmly with one gloved hand twisting into his sweater, while the other released its hold on the cold gun and pulled back into a fist, “but you’re not going anywhere.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all, and your amazing comments, like WOW, you blew me away with how much you commented last chapter, and it really, really helped push me to finish this one. You guys are the literal BEST. More soon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry starts to take his anger out on Len, but Scudder has even grander plans for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK NOTE thanks to Enina who brought up that you couldn't actually take a pill for depression when you feel bad and expect it to do anything. That's not how they work. And no worries, folks, I am familiar and understand that, and can assure you that how things are playing out is all very purposeful. But I wanted to address what's going on since this came up, and possibly give you guys a *gasp* teaser. 
> 
> You see, if Caitlin was asked how the pills work, this is how she'd respond: What she created to bypass Barry's metabolism requires him to take it immediately when he feels bad in order for it to be effective, as it won't last very long but could help curb his feelings of depression while it does last. It wouldn't work on him like it would for a normal person. However...even though Caitlin might say that, she wouldn't be telling the truth, which is...all I can say about that right now. :-) 
> 
> Did I say wow the previous chapter about your amazing reviews? Because WOW, this last chapter just...you guys blew me away. THANK YOU. I don't know the last time I (if ever, other than like the last chapter of a fic) ever had so many individual comments. It meant I haven't rested, and have just devoted as much time as I could on getting this next chapter up for you wonderful people. This fic means so much to me, and I am so proud of how everything is coming together. 
> 
> Much angst and surprises ahead, while some bits of foreshadowing come to fruition, and others are teased for the first time.

Pinned by Barry to the wall, cold gun useless in his grasp, with a black-gloved fist speeding toward his face, Len did the only thing he could do to avoid the blow. He went limp. 

Barry lost his grip on him from the unexpected lack of tension between them, and Len dropped to the floor just as that powerful fist slammed into the wall above him with an impressive impact. 

Len swung his cold gun forward and fired at Barry’s midsection before the speedster could react. He wanted to take a moment to get his bearings, to get his breath back, but Barry wasn’t listening, wasn’t thinking, and a Flash on the rampage was more dangerous than anything Len had ever faced. 

He scrambled to his feet as he flipped the switch for the cold field on, scanning the area in front of him to see where Barry had landed. Nothing. He’d already gone invisible. Shit. The shot from the gun wouldn’t have been enough to incapacitate Barry. It was still on the lowest setting from freezing the diamond case. 

Len’s goggles revealed the ring of the cold field’s radius. Knowing Barry was being smart, biding his time, he had no choice but to expand the field outward. It wouldn’t hurt Barry, he didn’t want to hurt Barry—even if Barry was dead set on hurting him—but he had to slow him down. 

“Flash!” Len called, trying to remember that there could be ears and eyes everywhere with what Scudder had just pulled; he couldn’t risk using Barry’s real name again. “Get your head on straight! I’m not working with Scudder!” He scanned the floor. Where was his ear piece? 

“Liar!” Barry called back, too loud and shrill for Len to discern its origin. “All you know how to do is lie! He’s just another one of your Rogues!”

A shimmer in the air caught Len’s attention as frost built on what appeared to be nothing—the suit! Len fired again, knocking the suspended frost back. He’d keep his gun on the lowest setting unless he absolutely had to increase it. Quickly, he scanned beneath his feet again. If he could just find his ear piece, call Mick and Lisa back…

 _No_ , he shook his head. They wouldn’t understand. What he needed was to get through to Barry, throw him off his game somehow to snap him out of his rage. 

“What the hell…?” Barry hissed from the direction Len had fired, but the blast setting wasn’t enough to stick on something Cisco had crafted, and the frost that had formed before had already melted. “Added some new tricks to your gun, huh?” he said, at most three meters away at the edge of the cold field, invisible but close. “Smart.”

“Flash, listen to me. I am _not_ working with Scudder,” Len said again.

He moved slowly away from the wall toward the center of the room, facing the direction he believed his nemesis to be, and expanded the radius on the cold field further, looking for signs of forming ice.

Things had been going so well, better than he would have ever dreamed of between him and Barry in the midst of a heist. Everything Len had done to pull this job off with immaculate precision had worked in his favor, and yet Barry had still come running to save the day. 

Had to have been the light from their guns and a concerned citizen—damn. Team Flash knew better than to dismiss things the cops would usually ignore. But that was half the fun. Len could have fought back when he first saw Barry, but he’d been curious, and Barry hadn’t disappointed. 

Len didn’t need his comms. He needed to find one of the pressure plates, get the cops on their way. 

“Come on, Scarlet, you think I’d trade the offer you gave me for splitting the loot with that maniac? Never even met—”

A vase, one of the few pieces in the room not encased in glass, flew toward him. Len side-stepped it easily, causing it to shatter on the floor in a dozen broken pieces. By the time he whipped forward again, the frost outline of a figure running toward him was already too close. He readied his gun to fire, but Barry had him. Strong, invisible hands gripped his shoulders and threw him across the room into the wall. 

Len struck it with an oomph, his ribs and the left side of his cheekbone exploding in pain as the breath knocked from his lungs a second time. He told himself to just hang onto the gun, _hang onto the gun_ , before he whirled around and blasted Barry back again. 

“Listen, damn it!”

“Shut up!” Barry screamed, as the ghostly form of him half outlined in silvery blue pushed up to his feet and continued to pursue Len across the space between them, but slower now, sluggish the longer he remained in the cold field.

Len upped its range again as he prepared to blast Barry as many times as it took. Finally, he spotted a pressure sensor, just one foot to his right. He inched toward it, keeping the cold gun trained on Barry, and pushed his foot down on it firmly. “Flash—”

“You’re a l-l-liar!” Barry shivered inside the field’s power. “A liar! I k-kept telling myself what a m-manipulative b-b-bastard you are…but you had me s-so certain I was wrong…that m-maybe you were d-different.” 

“Scarlet…” Len held himself against the wall as Barry drew closer. He was like some ice demon out of a nightmare, empty space painted in frost, and he wasn’t stopping. Len had to fire again. He had to. 

“You’re not different,” Barry spat. “You’re just like your father.”

The eruption of the cold gun almost surprised Len; he was so startled by his own snarl. But as Barry flew away from him, this time he didn’t feel bad about it. 

Covered in ice and still caught within the range of the cold field, it was easy to see where Barry had landed beside one of the display cases. Len had increased the field nearly enough to encompass the entire room. Barry tried to get up but he moved even slower than a normal person now, and lifted to his feet only to crumble back to his knees. 

Len stalked toward him. He couldn’t see Barry’s face, just the frost-etched outline of the eyes on the mask, but he could feel the glare, the fury radiating out from the kid like palpable heat struggling to melt the ice. The suit was doing its job to keep Barry protected, removing the ice almost as quickly as it formed, but the cold field was too strong. 

Barry looked up at Len from his prone position, shivering visibly, prepared for Len to prove him right and fire again, attack, gloat, something—like Len had done many times before. 

Len crouched in front of Barry and turned the cold field off. He knew it was a risk, a stupid risk he never would have taken a month ago, just to appease some damn bleeding heart hero. He was putting too much faith in someone else, leaving himself vulnerable and open to be hurt again, something he promised himself he would never, ever do. 

But Barry didn’t mean all this. Barry was better than this. Barry was the only person who had ever believed in Len, and he…he couldn’t lose that. Not yet. Leonard Snart did not give up on something he wanted just because the plan went to shit. He adjusted. Planned again. Did things better the next time around. And always, _always_ got his mark. 

He set the cold gun aside and pulled the goggles from his eyes. “You could stand to have a little more evidence, kid, before you assume the worst. Here I thought you did forensics. But then…I never gave you any reason to think I wouldn’t betray you again, did I? Can’t blame you for coming to what seemed the logical conclusion. So let me say it again.”

He leaned forward to look Barry in the eyes, even as the ice melted faster from the suit’s defenses and Barry’s own power, leaving less and less for Len to see, knowing he’d be defenseless the second Barry went invisible again. The parallel to that night at Ferris Air wasn’t lost on Len, but tonight he had different words for his nemesis. 

“I am not working with Scudder. I might lie to you, Scarlet, but if you ever catch me in the act, I’ll come clean. No fun playing out a con you’ve already lost, trust me. Why would Scudder even need me? Why would I need him? I had the diamond just fine on my own. And he reached through a god damn mirror to get it. He could have done that any…time…” Len tilted his head as the truth of those words dawned on him. 

Scudder didn’t need him. So why had he waited until the very moment Len was about to claim the diamond to take it for himself? Something was rotten about this whole ordeal…

As the ice finished receding from Barry’s suit, Len stared forward at the empty space left behind, waiting to see how his gamble played out. Tension wracked his body as he waited for a blow, but none came. The image before him shifted, and suddenly there was Barry in the black suit, visible and panting. He dropped to the side onto his hip.

“He could have done that any time…” Barry repeated. “He wanted me to see, wanted me to think…” He bolted up straighter, making Len flinch despite himself. “But then he used a mirror! Mirrors. Reflections. That’s how he’s been doing it! I thought he was phasing through matter or teleporting, but he was using mirrors and glass to travel through reflections!” Barry’s voice filled with that energy Len so loved. “So if he could have taken the diamond at any time, why wait, unless…”

“Unless he wanted us to fight,” Len finished Barry’s thought. “Which means he knows…”

“Pretty much everything.”

They stared at each other as the truth sunk in, because reflections were everywhere, and they hadn’t seen Scudder until he wanted them to, which meant he could have been anywhere at any time, watching them, learning about them. 

Len slid his goggles back into place and reached to retrieve his cold gun. Slowly, he and Barry rose to their feet. 

“Well damn,” that same powerful voice echoed around them, like it was coming from every shimmering surface in the room, “you two are just no fun at all, are you?”

The room erupted in a flicker of color and light, as every faint reflection in the mirrors and translucent surfaces around them turned to _look at them_ like entities of their own. Dozens, hundreds of themselves stared at them in eerie unison. 

Len and Barry instinctively moved back to back, keeping the many reflections in their sights as Len readied his gun. “If I turn on the cold field, you’re protected as long as you stay close to me,” Len spoke beneath his breath. He could feel the heat from Barry’s body behind him. 

“Wait. If we can find the real him, I can use the suit to grab him,” Barry muttered back. But which reflection was the real one? Were any of them something they could catch?

“I’ll admit,” Scudder’s voice came out of their own mouths from their mirror images—or at least from Len’s since Barry wore a mask—only…only it was their voices too, overlapping Scudder’s, “it was a surprise to find out the local superhero and the city’s most notorious criminal are engaged in an illicit love affair. But it does make for a juicier story.”

The reflections rippled, changed, and suddenly Len was looking at him and Barry from a few minutes ago, moving footage of them embracing, kissing, and then of Barry zipping around at speeds only The Flash could accomplish.

“It’s a shame you’re not wearing your signature suit, Flash, but I think the people will see the truth with the right evidence. Imagine the headline? ‘Flash and Cold Sex Scandal Leads New Supervillain to Glory’.”

“We disabled the cameras,” Len whispered as he and Barry pivoted, shoulder blades nearly touching, watching the reflections for any signs that might tell them how to attack. “He must have turned them back on.”

“Or he can _capture_ images in reflections.”

“Now, now, no fair keeping secrets,” Scudder said as the puppet images of Len and Barry returned. “You’ll find it’s hard to keep secrets from me anyway.” All at once, the images turned into copies of Barry alone. “Nice name, Flash. _Barry_ , is it?”

Shit. Careful as Len had been after he realized the truth, it was already too late. Scudder knew. 

“I wonder… You’re harder to track, of course, Flash, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the CSI on my case is _Barry_ Allen, do you? Fascinating. Operating right under the CCPD’s nose as a vigilante. Of course they turn a blind eye to The Flash’s activities, but do you think they still will once they learn your real identity? And who you’ve been _screwing_?”

Len felt a gust of air behind him as Barry zipped into action. “Barry, wait!” 

One of the reflections shattered as Barry punched it with everything he had in him. The pressure sensors were silent, but not the cases. Audio alarms blazed to life, and a suit of armor inside the destroyed case toppled over and clanged to the floor. 

Scudder’s voice returned as a sinister laugh, multiplied but his voice only, as finally, _finally_ his image replaced Barry’s—green, orange, and silver glimmering. 

He had a suit. A dark green cowl that covered part of his face, not that his identity was any secret, with green accents on an orange and silver-colored bodysuit. His hands remained bare. He didn’t care about fingerprints anymore. He was a showman, like Len. He wanted the notoriety. He wanted to be introduced to Central City with a bang. 

Len reached back to pull Barry closer, away from any reflective surfaces. Barry was panting, shaking. “Keep it together, kid,” Len hissed, but squeezed Barry’s arm in support, waiting for him to look at him before he nodded. Barry nodded back. 

“The police more than suspect me,” Scudder said, “but they can’t find me, and they never will. Aw, but where’s the fun in that without a headline, right? See this,” his many reflected images spread their arms wide, giving the impression that Len and Barry were surrounded. “This will seal my place as the city’s ultimate villain.” 

Brown eyes glittered with something darker than mischief as they centered on Len and Barry again. 

“Coz ya see, that headline needs a photo. And it’ll look even better next to _bodies_.” He grinned, and all at once the reflections vanished. 

Len pressed his back to Barry’s as they turned together, blinking light spots from their eyes after Scudder’s display. The room was dark again. Only the alarms could be heard, and the faint sound of police sirens headed their way. But Len knew the sound of sirens and how to gauge their distance. Even if the cops could be of any help to them, they wouldn’t get there in time. 

“Barry, run. Get us—”

“No, we can catch him.”

“ _Barry_.” Len risked a glare over his shoulder, but Barry wouldn’t look at him. He kept his masked face forward. 

“There!” Barry called, and dove toward another display case. 

“Wait!” Len saw an image of Scudder within, but it ran away just as Barry reached it, like a god damn game of tag. Barry stopped himself from running into the glass, but only just barely. When he whirled around, Len realized what was about to happen only seconds before it did. “Barry—”

An arm reached out of the glass behind Barry and hooked around his throat, holding him against it in a tight choke hold. Len didn’t even hesitate; he fired, even if some of the blast ricocheted off of Barry. 

“Ah!” Scudder’s voice cried out as his arm recoiled. 

Barry zipped back to Len’s side, and Len made a point of jabbing the muzzle of the cold gun beneath his chin. 

“Stop fighting blind,” he warned. “Be smarter. Or I’ll blast you myself. Now get us outta here!” Len would have pushed Barry away if he didn’t fear Scudder trying to grab him again. 

“And leave him to show up again—when? Where?” Barry shot back, shoving the gun aside. “The next time we’re with everyone we know? Everyone we care about? We have no idea the extent of his powers. Right now it’s just you and me. And we can end this.” 

“End this?” The kid sounded like he was ready to—

“More lovers’ quarrelling?” Scudder called to them, prompting Len to spin Barry around and position them back to back again. “Don’t make this too easy on me now.”

“First piece of sense you’ve made!” Len called out, then spoke hushed to Barry, “You don’t wanna run, kid, fine, but if you got any bright ideas, now’s the time.” 

“That new trick with your gun,” Barry whispered.

“The cold field?”

“Turn it on. He’ll reach for us again, he’ll have to. When he does, it’ll slow him down.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll zip over to grab him. You turn the field off before it affects me.”

It wasn’t perfect, and their timing had to be exact, but Len wasn’t coming up with any better ideas. He flipped on the switch for the cold field and expanded it to fill the room. “It’s up. Keep my pace,” Len said, turning them one step at a time, shoulders touching again, like some morbid, backwards dance, “and warn me before you do anything stupid.”

“Okay. Then let’s give him some bait. Scudder!” Barry reached a hand back to place on Len’s hip, startling him, but then he started to tug Len backward, pivoting still but also bringing them closer to one of the panes of glass. “I thought you said something about a name when we first met! So who are you, huh? Better be better than…Reflector or…Fun House!” 

Len held back a snort; the kid really needed to work on his banter sometimes. 

“Oh, you’ll remember my name, Flash. For as long as you have left to live.” Scudder’s voice was everywhere again, everywhere, but definitely loudest coming from the glass in front of Barry. “My name…is _Mirror Master_.”

“Now!” Barry cried at the same time Scudder yelped in surprise at encountering the cold field. 

Len dropped the field and spun, only to see Barry, already with his hands gripping Scudder’s frost-covered wrist, struggling to pull him out of the glass. Barry should be stronger than that, he was stronger than anyone Len had ever met, but not in whatever world Scudder controlled inside the reflection. Len couldn’t shoot; if he did, Scudder would just retreat again.

Scudder’s wrist remained green, clearly his own, but the rest of him shifted until the image in the glass was Barry again. The mirror copy used its free hand to pull the mask from its face, and it was Barry’s face, plain as day. But the expression was wrong, the sneer there, the fury that wasn’t Barry, it wasn’t. And then his eyes sparked with that familiar yellow lightning, only…it wasn’t yellow. 

It was _red_. 

Barry released Scudder’s arm and tumbled back, knocking into Len and sending them both toppling to the floor. Len hurried to right himself, yanking on Barry to get him to his feet as well. But as soon as he had his footing, he saw the reflection of Barry in the glass vanish—and a hand gripped his ankle. 

The hand yanked, and Len’s foot flew out from under him. This time when he fell, he slammed his head into the side of one of the cases. His cold gun went flying, just as his finger accidentally flipped on the cold field again. 

The chill was instant, and far too numbing, even inside his parka and thermal gear with how fuzzy his head was. Len pushed up, blinking the haze from his vision, but he still couldn’t see properly, could barely move, as he struggled to focus on where his cold gun lay on the floor. 

Only distantly did he notice another set of Scudder’s hands reach out of a mirror near the first case Barry had shattered, and pick up a shard. The hands disappeared back inside and Len hurried forward to reach his gun. Barry was sitting where he had tumbled to the floor, staring at his hands, not moving. 

“Barry!”

They were both already covered in frost and Barry was too close to another pane of glass. The shard reached out of it in Scudder’s grasp. The meta hissed as the cold field affected him too, but he was still more than close enough to stab Barry. 

Len reached his gun, soothed by the feeling of warmth within the eye of the field, and rolled onto his back to fire, not caring that he was still seeing double.

He missed Scudder’s arm but hit the pane of glass—it shattered. Len wanted to see the bastard’s arm drop to the floor, severed by the disconnection, but he pulled it back just in time. Destroying the mirrors didn’t hurt Scudder, but he could still be hurt outside of them, Len was sure of it.

“Barry!” Len scrambled to Barry’s side and shook him. The kid’s face, even covered in the mask, still somehow looked stricken. “He’s trying to mess with us, and he’s succeeding. Stay with me.” Len forced his doubled vision to focus as he held the back of Barry’s neck. He didn’t have time for a concussion.

“Flaaaash!” Scudder roared around them.

Barry shuddered, but after a moment of erratic nodding to steel his nerves, he grabbed Len by the arms. “We have to get him outside the reflections.”

“Agreed. How?”

“Destroy the mirrors,” Barry said, then more excitedly, gripping Len’s arms tighter, “Destroy the glass, everything! Leave him no place to hide!”

Len turned with his cold gun and fired at every shimmering surface in his view. Barry took off at super speed, punching and running through cases like a stampeding animal. By the time Len lurched to his feet, cold gun limp in his hand as it recharged, Barry had returned to his side and the room was in shambles. Once again, the alarms seemed too loud in the mostly dark room, with the police sirens sounding only blocks away.

Barry gestured at the small pieces of glass all around them. “Do you think size matters?”

Len huffed. “He can’t reach through something that small, even if he can watch us.” Len realized then that if they’d left one mirror whole, it might have given them the chance to force Scudder out more easily, but this was better. He was exhausted and his head throbbed. They needed time to regroup. 

And then they heard laughter. 

XXXXX

_I’m not like him, I’m not like him, I’m not like—_

Scudder’s laughter chilled Barry to the bone, worse than being caught in Snart’s cold field. He tried to shake off the vision from the mirror, but those red eyes had hit too close to home. Especially after he’d tumbled into madness so easily again, even having attacked Snart without proof other than hearsay. Because it made him angry. _Because he was angry._

That was never an excuse. 

Now he felt numb again and hollowed out, like none of it mattered, like nothing mattered, and he just wanted it all to go away so he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. 

“Barry…” Snart’s voice cut through Scudder’s laughter, not by volume, but by the sheer terror in his tone. Snart never sounded scared like that, did he?

Barry looked up. Snart had backed away a step, his face pale, gun dangling useless at his side. But even through the goggles, Barry could see how wide Snart’s eyes had become as he stared at Barry—at Barry’s _suit_. As soon as Barry looked down at himself, he saw why. 

The tiny mirrors that covered him from head to toe were twinkling between light and darkness, like they were blinking. _Blinking_ , because each and every one of them held the image of an _eye_. 

Barry surged back, but he couldn’t escape his own suit. Mirrors. He was covered in _mirrors_. His instincts were to tear the suit off of him, but in that moment he realized he couldn’t move. 

“I take it back, Flash,” Scudder’s voice emanated from the suit itself, from every individual reflector. “This is so much better than your normal suit.”

“Ah!” Barry cried out as his arms and legs locked into place, too overextended, painful. 

His head remained frozen looking downward long enough to see the eyes in the suit blink away to reveal a mosaic of Scudder’s body as _Barry’s_ body, and then the eyes were back. Barry’s head snapped upright, and he caught the panicked look on Snart’s face. 

“No!” Barry called when Snart reached for him, rushing at the suit with a snarl. But he wasn’t fast enough, not when Scudder had control of Barry’s body. 

A lightning fast crack filled the room as Barry backhanded Snart the second he got close enough, striking the side of his face so hard, he flew several feet before he landed amidst the carnage of shattered glass. Barry stared in horror, but though his own reaction was to stay still, his body pitched forward of its own accord. 

Snart shook his head as he pushed up on trembling arms. He’d been struck too many times, hurt too many times to react fast enough, to whip his gun forward and fire. The gun remained out of his grasp beneath him as he struggled to find his footing in the glass. 

“Len! Get up!” Barry cried, but he was already reaching for the thief. 

“Here, let me help you,” Scudder said from out of a thousand tiny mirrors, all linked together like a network of reflections that left Barry as little more than a doll. 

The hands that seized Snart from behind and hefted him to his feet were far from gentle. They pulled Snart back against Barry’s body, wrapped tight around his middle, and squeezed with an impossible strength.

“Ba—!” Snart choked and gasped as his ribs were crushed.

“Len!” Barry could feel the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Please! I can’t stop! I can’t _stop!_ ”

“ _Barry_ …” Snart croaked. “We need…your team.”

“I…I can’t reach my comms!”

“Where…are they?”

“Right eye…on the side, but I can’t…I can’t…”

“Bar…” The gurgle that came from Snart was awful, the feeling of his ribs bowing inward, so fragile within Barry’s grasp, just like when he’d almost broken that man’s arms. Snart couldn’t breathe, and in a moment, his ribs would snap.

Barry was killing him— _killing him_ , and he couldn’t stop. 

With a slowly building howl, Barry wrenched his arms apart, feeling like he broke his own arms in the process. Snart heaved in breaths and nearly fell to his knees, but before he stumbled, he flailed an arm back and gripped the edge of Barry’s shoulder. Using Barry for leverage, he pulled himself around and slapped his hand against the eye of Barry’s mask.

“Cisco!” Barry screamed, praying that his friend was still there.

The longest fifteen seconds of Barry’s life passed, as Snart collapsed to his knees still sucking in air, and Barry fought against Scudder’s control over the suit. 

“Dude, _ow_ ,” Cisco came over the line. “I think you blasted out my eardrums with that—”

“The suit! Scudder’s controlling the suit!”

“Wait, _what_?”

Barry had seconds to explain to Cisco, and no idea what to ask for, what could possibly be done to stop him from hurting Snart further. He felt his control over the suit slipping...as he reached toward Snart again.

“You’re strong, Flash, but not as strong as me, in _my_ world.”

“Who the hell is that?!” Cisco shouted.

“The reflectors! He’s in the mirrors! Scudder, please…” Barry begged, his hands shaking as he tried to hold back from reaching Snart, who didn’t have the strength left to get away. “Please don’t make me hurt him…”

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Cisco chanted over the comms. “Caitlin!”

“Already told you, Flash,” Scudder said, unified into a single resonant voice. “It’s _Mirror Master_.”

Barry’s fingers closed around Snart’s throat. 

“What can we do?!” Caitlin cried.

“On...” Snart choked as Barry lifted him until his feet dangled above the floor. He tried to claw at Barry’s fingers to no avail. “Turn…it…”

Suddenly, it clicked. 

“Turn on the suit!” Barry yelled. Cisco had a master switch at the Labs. Invisible, there would be no mirrors, no way for Scudder to control him.

Barry could see Snart’s eyes through his goggles, so blue, looking at him even as he fought for air and consciousness like he believed with every fiber in him that Barry could save him. 

“Cisco!”

“I got it!”

The tension fled Barry’s body all at once as he turned invisible and control returned. He collapsed from the relief, and barely kept from dropping Snart to the floor. He managed a controlled catch, and pulled Snart to him as he fell to his knees.

“It…it worked…it worked,” Barry huffed, practically sobbing down at Snart, who blinked dazedly up at him and coughed for breath. Snart couldn’t see him, but Barry held him close so he’d know that he was there. “I got you, Len…I got you.”

“ _Len_?” Caitlin came over the comms again. “Barry, what is going on?”

“Uhh,” Cisco broke in, “ _more_ importantly, are you okay? And where’s…did he say Mirror Master? I hate when they name themselves…”

“He’s…he’s still here somewhere, in the reflections,” Barry tried to explain now that he had a moment to breathe, to look down at Snart as he breathed too and started to look more alert. “He can travel through reflections. Through mirrors.” 

“He can travel through _mirrors_?” Cisco repeated. “That is every nightmare I have ever had.” 

Barry laughed, because…because he was hysterical and crying, and laughter seemed the next logical addition. “I’m getting Snart out of here. Tell the police not to enter the museum. Not yet. I don’t know what Scudder might do.”

“Flash!” Scudder’s voice rose as if on cue from the many shards littering the ground, too small for him to reach through, though an array of eyes blinked at them. “Do you really think you can run from your reflection!?”

Barry ignored him. He couldn’t risk another encounter, not until they had a plan. 

Gently, he gathered Snart into his arms. The thief reached back to reclaim his cold gun, then clung to Barry tightly. Only the tension in Snart’s jaw betrayed his wariness of being whisked off by an invisible man, but he nodded to Barry like he had all the confidence in him in the world. 

“Flaaaash!”

Barry took off running and made it a solid ten blocks in only a few seconds before he stopped. Carefully, he leaned Snart against the wall of the alley, a refuge he was certain didn’t house any reflective surfaces.

“Barry, if he can control the suit when it’s off, you have to get rid of it,” Caitlin said. 

“I know. I’m a safe distance now. I won’t be able to talk to you, but I’ll check in when I can.”

“We can track the suit’s location,” Cisco said. “We’ll pick you up.”

“No,” Snart shook his head as he overheard, still breathing deeply. He looked battered and beaten, with a split lip from Barry’s backhand and a cut on his head from one of his many falls. The bruises would be impressive come morning. 

But he was right. Barry couldn’t risk anyone else until they were sure Scudder couldn’t reach them. 

“No. Don’t come unless I call for you.”

“Barry,” Cisco and Caitlin spoke together. 

“I’ll call. I promise.” Barry’s arms burned with pain from fighting off Scudder, but the soreness was slowly fading, slowly healing like he always healed. Not for the first time, he wished he could offer his healing to someone else. He gently touched Snart’s cheek, and even though he was invisible, Snart leaned into him.

Cisco and Caitlin were still yelling for Barry to wait, please wait for them, they’d come get him, when he zipped out of the suit, leaving him standing quite visible suddenly in front of Snart in just his snug black underwear. 

Snart tried to smirk at him, but when he started to sink down the wall, Barry dashed forward to catch him. He eased Snart to the ground, crouched in front of him with his hands gently holding the other man, then removed his goggles for him and brushed his now bare hand along Snart’s cheek again. 

“Len…” Barry scooted closer, would have climbed into Snart’s lap if he could. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Snart shivered, but he was conscious. He’d be okay. “Wasn’t you,” he said.

Barry scoffed, as he brushed a thumb over the scuff on Snart’s cheekbone from when he first threw him into the wall. “This one was. I wanted to hurt you. I…I would have caused all of this without Scudder if you hadn’t knocked some sense into me.”

“But I did…and you listened.” Snart smiled, and reached for Barry’s face in turn. “It’s okay—”

“It is _not_ okay,” Barry bit out louder than he intended. He held Snart’s gloved hand to his face, even as fresh tears slid down his face and he shook his head. “It is never okay anymore. Why does everyone keep _saying_ that?”

“Barry…hey.” Snart tugged him closer— _closer_ —until Barry _was_ in his lap, half snuggled into the open parka. “Shh…”

Barry sniffled as he buried his head in Snart’s chest, hugging him, but gently, where he knew the man’s ribs were sore. “I didn’t mean any of it. Sometimes I say these things, and I can’t stop myself. But that’s not an excuse. I should be stronger than this, I have to be stronger than this…”

“Calm down, Scarlet. You think you’re the only one who’s ever experienced that? You are stronger. You are better. You're not like me…”

The words startled Barry, tore at him, because Snart didn’t know. He had no idea about the darkness inside of Barry. “You're...” he tried to say…something, but when the right words wouldn’t come, he pulled back to look at Snart—at his bruised and bloody face, at his kind eyes that he let so few people see. “You are _nothing_ like your father,” Barry said, and he’d say it a million times more if it always smoothed the lines from Snart’s face like that, and made his armor and masks drop away. “Am I…?”

“What?” The lines returned with a vengeance as Snart frowned, and some of his usually hard exterior cracked into something else. “No, Barry,” he held Barry’s face in his hands, “never.”

Snart kissed him, and for a moment, despite the tears on Barry’s face and the grief in his throat, there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than Snart’s lips.

But then Snart hissed and pulled back. His lip was sore and bleeding, after all—because of Barry. 

Barry snuggled in against Snart’s warmth again inside the parka. The dark night around them was filled with sounds from the city, but in their alley it was comfortingly still and quiet. “I’m sorry, I can move, I just… I should get up. You need medical attention.”

“I’ll be fine.” Snart held Barry closer along the small of his back. “Might throw up on you if you squeeze too tightly though.”

Barry gave a distressed, choked laugh, and scooted out of Snart’s lap. Snart’s lazy smile was tired, dazed. “You have a concussion. I should get you to Caitlin—”

“No,” Snart shook his head, “too dangerous if Scudder tracks us. We need to wait. Besides, I have my own doctor if I need one.”

“You do?”

Snart shrugged. “Nurse. But she’ll do in a pinch. It just looks bad, Scarlet. Nothing some rest and ibuprofen won’t cure.”

He was being too dismissive, laying on the bravado to ease Barry’s concerns, when he looked almost as bad as Camouflage had that night when Barry first lost it. He gripped Snart’s gloved hand. “I’m sorry. I am so—”

“Barry,” Snart said seriously, “you never have to be sorry for defending yourself.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“You thought you were. You were wrong. Didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. Fine. But why should you have? If it had been…Cisco, you would have stopped and listened to him, right?”

Barry honestly didn’t know—in the moment, in his anger. He thought he would. He _would_ , wouldn’t he?

“Here.” Snart narrowed his eyes at Barry sitting in front of him in his underwear on the concrete, and pulled his parka out from around his shoulders. He settled it snug around Barry until Barry slid his arms into the sleeves. “You need this more than I do right now. And mmm…” He tilted his head as he regarded Barry with that familiar eye glance down his body. “Kept thinking of things to drape you in, Scarlet, and here I stumbled upon the sexiest one on accident.”

Barry snorted, and sniffled, and wiped at his eyes; a complete mess on the ground of an alley in Central City in his enemy’s parka. It smelled like Snart, and radiated heat. Barry hugged it around himself.

When Snart’s expression softened, he didn’t look like an enemy. “I’m just an old thief with a bad track record, kid. You had every reason to believe what you did. Means you’re learning. You shouldn’t be so trusting of scoundrels,” he grinned.

“Not even of you?” Barry grinned back.

“Especially not of me.”

Barry wasn’t so sure anymore. He wanted to kiss Snart again, would have if not for the split lip. He wanted to hold him, keep him safe, keep him with him for…forever. But he couldn’t say that. It was too dangerous. This was all too dangerous, and stupid, and…and Barry didn’t care, he just wanted to keep feeling what Snart made him feel. 

He kissed Snart’s cheek where it wasn’t bruised or scratched. “I’ll never hurt you again.”

“Now, now, don’t say that. I might deserve it next time,” Snart said with a smirk. 

But he didn’t deserve it. He _didn’t_. “Len, I…I have to tell you something.”

“Sure, kid. But let’s get out of this alley first, huh? Gotta be somewhere better we can go for now. Hey…” He glanced around them, and then behind Barry. “Where’s the suit?”

“Oh, uhhh…” Barry looked over his shoulder at where he’d ripped the suit off of him. He couldn’t exactly leave it for someone to find someday. He needed to destroy it. 

Wearing nothing but his underwear and Snart’s parka, he got to his feet and ventured back into the middle of the alley, feeling the ground with his foot. Snart stood behind him, a little wobbly, but steady enough, proving that maybe he wasn’t wrong about just needing time and rest. Barry still wanted to make sure the man got checked out by someone with official medical credentials, whoever this ‘nurse’ might be. 

Finally, Barry felt the scrape of fabric on his foot, though there appeared to be nothing in front of him. He reached down to pick the suit up, wondering how to best dispose of it, when his hand accidentally gripped the spot on the glove that triggered the invisibility. The suit shimmered into existence in his fingers. 

Barry gasped and dropped the suit with a start. The air was too still as he waited for something to happen, for Scudder’s laugher to come resounding up at them like some storybook monster. 

When nothing happened, Barry released a shaky laugh and looked at Snart, who stood close behind him, away from the wall now and on alert with his hand on his cold gun in its holster, like he was ready to fight regardless of the state of him. Then Snart relaxed, and they shared a smile. 

Barry reached for the suit again. 

“There you are, Flash.” 

The mosaic of Scudder’s image flickered to life, and faster than Barry could pull back, a hand reached out of the many mirrors as if they were one—a thousand tiny reflections working in sync—and seized Barry’s wrist. 

By the time Barry screamed, he was already being pulled into the suit like disappearing down a rabbit hole. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! I promise (at least I'm pretty sure) that the next chapter won't end in a cliffhanger!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry enters the Mirror Maze. In the end, both Len and Barry come to a conclusion about where their relationship should go from here, but it might not be the same answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowowowow again to your responses to the last part. Thank you so much! I truly mean it that every comment makes me write faster. :-)
> 
> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, so...let me know what you think!
> 
> To be fair, I might be a little later with the next chapter since I'll be working on the next chapter for Public Enemy next, but that's pure smut, which tends to write faster than the angsty heavy-plot fest of Lovesick. Rest assured, there will be more soon.

Barry landed hard on his shoulder and the sharp edge of his hip, only softened by having Snart’s parka around him. He gasped for air feeling, for a moment, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. But then he breathed, blinked, and rolled onto his back. Above him was a canvas of black and a million twinkling stars. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Scudder’s voice encircled him like a din of voices from every direction. “You’re just some scrawny kid.”

Barry zipped to his feet with a burst of speed, and spun around, fists up in a fighting stance, but his composure failed him when he took in his surroundings. 

The blackness wasn’t the sky, and it definitely wasn’t a ceiling. It was…everywhere, even the ground beneath Barry’s feet was a void of black that he was somehow standing on. And the twinkling lights weren’t stars; they were mirrors. He could see dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of them, some close, others spiraling into the distance like a labyrinth.

And in every one of them that Barry could see was an image of Scudder. 

The seams in Scudder’s suit were silver, reflective and glowing as if infused with power, giving him the impression of something larger than life. All Barry had was his speed. Not even his suit, just Snart’s parka that would be too cumbersome to run in. 

“So easily brought to tears over Cold?” Scudder mocked him, causing Barry to wipe furiously at the remaining wetness on his cheeks. “How did all that go down anyway, you ending up as his kept boy? You secretly his partner in crime, Flash, and the hero thing is a front, or do you just like the taste of _rough_ now and again?”

Barry darted forward at the nearest reflection, bringing around a speeding punch that connected squarely with Scudder’s image, only for a shriek to tear from Barry’s lips as he fell to his knees. The glass hadn’t shattered, but the bones in his hand had. He held it limply in his lap, willing the bones to knit together faster as it pulsed with pain. 

Scudder’s laughter made it so much worse. “You can’t destroy the mirrors here, Flash. That only works in your world. This world is _mine_.” 

Strong fingers wrapped around Barry’s neck and squeezed until he gagged, only to hurl him backwards before Barry could attempt to fight back. He struck one of the mirrors and felt a rib snap on impact. It all happened so… _fast_. 

Scudder reached for him out of another reflection, and Barry scrambled to his feet, backing away even as he coughed from the pain in his side. It would heal, it would _heal_ …

A sharp kick to his spine sent him spiraling forward into the reflection he’d been escaping, meeting Scudder’s hand that gripped his shoulder and wrenched him down as a knee rammed up into his stomach. Barry coughed again and doubled over, feeling like he was going to be sick, like he was seeing stars. He had to _focus_. 

“Come on, Flash, you’re not even _trying_ ,” Scudder spat.

Barry backpedaled away from the mirror, attempting to gauge how close he was to others, keep out of range, but there were so many. Even when he spun around, tried to strike out against Scudder’s limbs that escaped the safety of the glass, one misstep always brought him too close to danger. He’d receive a kick or a punch or get knocked into another mirror, tossed around like a weakling. Like he was in high school again, surrounded by a gang of bullies with Tony Woodward at the center. 

The next time Barry stumbled, he coughed blood into the floor, which seemed to disappear into the blackness like it was never there. The break in his hand was healing, slowly. Soon he’d be able to use it again if he could just breathe and see straight. He had to get away from the reflections, had to think, had to _fight_ ….

He grabbed the next limb that came into view—an ankle. Barry was on his back, bloody and bruised as bad as Snart now, but he had Scudder, _he had him_. “You can’t…hide in mirrors…forever.”

Scudder yanked his leg back into the mirror he’d come out of, and Barry was powerless to stop him. He rushed forward and hit the glass ineffectually when he tried to retrieve the leverage he’d lost. Then, before Scudder could retaliate, he rolled away and pulled his own legs into his chest. He hugged them as he sat huddled, hiding in Snart’s parka, as equidistant between mirrors as he could get. 

“The real you is here somewhere!” Barry cried.

“Sure, Flash,” Scudder chuckled in pure amusement. “But you’ll never find me. Just like you’ll never find your way out. See, I can use any of the mirrors here. But you, you can only exit through the mirror you came in through. Do you know which one it is?”

Barry peeked his head up out of the parka. The mirrors were everywhere. There was no discernable incline or decline in the darkness, but he could tell that some of the more distant mirrors were higher up or beneath him. Otherwise, they all looked the same. 

“All of these mirrors connect to the material world, Flash. Mirrors, other surfaces with strong enough reflections, I can reach them all, but you can’t. You’d starve and waste away before you ever got close to finding your way home. It would take an eternity to explore the vastness of this world without my powers.”

“Your powers…?” Barry breathed, dazed and grimacing as his wounds struggled to heal. “They’re more than traveling through mirrors?”

“Traveling through—” Scudder broke off into his loudest laugh yet. “That isn’t my power, Flash. I learned how to reach the Mirror Maze long before the Particle Accelerator blew. No, my power is why I can do this when no one else can.” 

Barry didn’t understand. If Scudder traveled through mirrors without powers then how did he do it?

“That suit of yours is something else though,” Scudder said, large and menacing around Barry like he might step out of his reflections as an army at any time. “The way each of the pieces work together…it gave me such wonderful ideas. And you’re in luck. Because it means I’m not gonna kill you yet.”

The images winked out, leaving Barry staring at glittering surfaces that filled the blackness with soft, faint light. He could finally see himself, reflected in the mirrors closest to him, and also see the way the mirrors reflected each other, creating an illusion of infinity. 

“I jumped the gun, Flash,” Scudder’s voice filled the vast space. “We could have so much more fun together. Besides, you ruined the game. Can’t make a big show of the museum heist now. We’ll have to think of something better. Something _bigger_. So in the meantime, why don’t I introduce you to someone? Though I think you’ve already met.”

Barry pivoted his head between reflections, terrified that Scudder had gone back for Snart, that he’d hurt him in front of Barry, do terrible things to him, but Snart’s image never appeared. Barry only saw himself. And then, once when he turned his head, he realized that the reflection he was looking at was staring back at him with a twisted smile. 

Barry scurried back despite himself. His shoulders hit a mirror and he flinched, expecting Scudder to push him or punch him or throw him around again, but nothing happened. 

While Barry remained pressed back, knees pulled in, staring forward, his reflection started to get up. He looked just as beaten as Barry, wore only his underwear and the parka like Barry, but his wounds started to heal and fade away faster. He dropped the parka from his shoulders, and in its place, a Flash suit materialized. But it wasn’t the black suit, or the red one. 

It was yellow. 

“This is better, isn’t it?” Barry’s reflection spoke, standing there in the Reverse Flash suit. The cowl was down, but the image still shook him. “Red was never our color. Or maybe it is. What do you think, _Barry_?” 

The hazel green of Reverse Barry’s eyes flashed red—and remained that way, glowing and terrible. 

Barry clenched his own eyes shut. “You’re not real. You’re not me,” he chanted into his knees. “You’re just a construct. A trick of camera footage and vocal recordings.” 

“You so sure about that?” the voice whispered from right behind him. 

Barry jumped and spun to scramble the other direction, seeing his reflection in the mirror he’d been leaning against, grinning at him as he rose from a crouched position. 

“See, Barry, I’m the you, you keep trying to run away from. You know who you really are. _What_ you are.” He tilted his head and the red in his eyes glimmered. “You’re a monster, Barry. Just like him. You’re worse than him. Because you make everyone see this sweet, innocent face, this heroic façade,” he spread his arms, and for a moment the suit was red, before it shimmered back to yellow, “but where you really get your kicks is when you bash someone into the pavement. When you manipulate them for your own amusement.”

The image shorted out like a faulty television, and reappeared behind Barry. 

“When you play Snart like a fiddle until he begs for you to _fuck_ him.” 

“Shut up,” Barry said, trembling beneath the image of himself in Eobard’s suit, “it’s not like that.”

Reverse Barry crouched again to look him in the eyes—those red eyes. “Isn’t it? Wasn’t that your plan? Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been doing? Oh, Barry,” he chuckled and touched a hand to the reverse lightning bolt on his chest, “Wells would be so _proud_ —”

“Shut up!” Barry screamed and leapt to his feet, not to punch this time, but to pound the glass, if only to beat at his image even if he couldn’t break it. 

His reflection laughed at him as it once again stood. “You think I’m not real, Barry? I’m real. I’m like a virus. Give me more of what I crave, what I need, and I just get _stronger_.”

Barry’s pounding tapered off with a final weak thud, his fists and forearms pressed to the glass.

“And one day,” his reflection said, eying him as though he were hungry to take his place, “I’ll be the only version of you left.” 

Hands pushed through the mirror and gripped Barry’s wrists. They weren’t Scudder’s bare hands with green cuffs; they were _Barry’s_ hands, clad in yellow, in the wrong suit, in the suit that killed his _mother_. 

Barry lurched back to get away, trying once, twice, and finally on the third time his reflection released him and he tumbled back from the momentum. He expected to hit the mirror behind him, but when he fell, he toppled through it and kept on falling. Blackness surrounded him, and he heard one last taunting phrase before he felt an impact. 

“Be seeing you.”

“Barry!”

Barry pulled away from the hands that seized him, fighting back with a wild swing that he knew would be feeble. He was so tired, and hurting, and sorry—he was so _sorry_. 

“ _Barry_ ,” Snart’s voice called to him from the blur of tears in Barry’s eyes. He felt gentle hands close over his wrists where a moment before had been something harsh and cruel. Barry blinked, and stared, and it was Len, _it was Len_. 

He sobbed as he collapsed against Snart. They were on the ground together in that alley, Snart’s parka still around Barry’s shoulders, while so much of them was bruised and bloody and sore. But Barry would heal. He had to heal. He always healed. 

“Barry…it’s okay. You’re okay. What did he do to you…?”

Barry jerked up. Snart was holding him, concerned for him, no armor in place to block the emotions on his face, which remained beaten like Barry’s. Then Barry glanced to the side and saw the suit. Visible. Shimmering at him. Barry wanted to tear it into pieces, but he didn’t dare touch it. 

“We have to turn it on again,” Snart said. 

“No.”

“Barry—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barry huddled in Snart’s arms. “He won’t use it again, not tonight. He doesn’t want to kill me anymore. He wants to do worse.” 

And for a moment, as Snart held Barry silently, Barry wondered what Scudder would do to the infamous Captain Cold. But he already knew. Scudder didn’t need to do anything. Barry was enough. Barry was a poison—a virus. He’d ruin Snart all on his own.

“Len…what color are my eyes?” 

“What?” 

“My eyes…” Barry looked at him, into the brilliant blue of Snart’s eyes, that even in the dark, even dazed and broken after such a long night, looked bright and beautiful. 

Snart held one side of his face, a gloved thumb brushing the tears from beneath his eye. “They’re green, Barry. They’re always green.”

“And now?” Barry asked, summoning his powers, which made him feel the healing energies of the Speed Force surge through him faster, made his heart stutter, but also made him afraid that he was summoning something dark inside of him. 

Snart looked at Barry as though he marveled at what he saw. “Yellow, kid. Like your lightning.”

Barry released the breath he’d held in that moment, and fell forward against Snart as he let his power release. It was just a reflection. It was just a reflection…

“Barry, are you there?!”

A gasp left Barry at Cisco’s voice sounding so close. It was coming from the suit. 

“Barry, if you’re there,” Caitlin spoke next, “stay where you are. We’ve almost tracked you.”

Before, Barry had worried about Scudder trying to hurt his friends, had thought up so many terrifying scenarios for how the meta might torture and stalk them. Now he believed the man had different plans, but he still didn’t want Cisco and Caitlin to find him. He almost wished Snart wasn’t there either, witnessing him falling apart— _again_ —but he didn’t want to let the thief go. 

“You should answer them,” Snart said. “If you’re sure Scudder won’t come after you tonight, you should—”

“No…” Barry shook his head. “Please. I just want to get out of here. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Barry, if they’re close, I’m not fast enough to get you out of here before they reach us. Can you run?” 

“Yeah…I think so.” 

“Then go home, kid. Just go home. I’ll—” 

“ _No_.” Barry pressed his hands to Snart’s chest and shook his head as fiercely as he could. But when his hands brushed Snart’s goggles hanging from his neck, he recoiled. The lenses. Scudder couldn’t get to them through something so small, but he could overhear them. He could _watch_. 

Barry tore them off of Snart’s head and threw them at the discarded crumple of the suit. Snart looked startled at first, but once he saw what Barry had done, he seemed to understand. 

“Barry, come on!” Cisco called again, his voice doubled from the suit and somewhere nearby, as if only half a block away. 

Barry zipped him and Snart to their feet, and held the thief close. He knew it was time to let Len go, that everything he’d once planned for was over and it was time to come clean. He should end things here and now, and do as Snart said. Let his friends take him back to the Labs, take him home. 

But he couldn’t. Not yet. He wanted one more night to pretend that he could be happy where he was. One more night where he and Len didn’t seem like such an impossible match.

“They’ll take care of the suit,” he said, strong enough for one more feat tonight, because he had to be, _he had to be_. He looked at Snart’s face, discolored and tainted because of him. “And I’ll take care of you.”

“Barry!”

Barry took off running, and didn’t stop until he’d fazed both of them into Snart’s apartment. 

XXXXX

Flash was a smart kid, but while he thought he was protecting himself and Cold, he’d actually just given Sam exactly what he needed. 

The lenses of the goggles were small, but large enough for him to snag the end of a piece of fabric. He reached through and gripped part of that fascinating black suit, and began to pull and pull it through the small reflection, which, once he had a good hold on his side of the Mirror Maze, was only too easy to complete. In moments, he’d claimed the black suit for his own. 

Oh yes, he had much better plans for Flash now. Cold might get credit for the diamond heist, but it was doubtful the police could pin it on anyone, since most of the ice had melted, Cold had played things so smart initially, and all Sam had left behind was broken glass. Beating Cold and The Flash publically would have been epic. But taking over—that would be legendary. 

“Where’s the suit?” a male voice sounded from the mirror. Sam watched as feet stepped into view through the reflection. 

“Maybe it’s still invisible,” a female voice joined him. “Are those Cold’s goggles?”

A hand appeared to retrieve them, and Sam got a clear view of a young man’s face when the goggles were lifted—bronze skin, dark eyes, long hair. That must be Cisco; Sam recognized the voice. 

Which meant the female was Dr. Snow. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on between Barry and Snart?”

“Uhh…I think he should be the one to tell you.”

“Cisco…”

“Something’s not right,” Cisco said, holding the goggles at his side giving Sam a view of the ground. “The tracker went dead. A second ago it said the suit was right _here_.”

They wouldn’t find any trace of it now, not when it had found a new home in the mirror world. Sam stared at the fabric in his hands and grinned. He walked away from the mirror, no longer interested in Team Flash for tonight. 

He didn’t know as much about The Flash and where the man hung his hat as he did with Captain Cold. But he knew enough. Breaking The Flash was going to be fun—and only too easy. For now, he just had to bide his time. 

XXXXX

Len felt like he might throw up when he and Barry finally came to a stop out of the whirlwind of lightning and he realized they were standing in his apartment. He’d lost his new comms and his goggles; he would not lose his lunch. Hartley was going to be pissed at him, especially if any of his creations could be tracked back to the shop, but for now all Len could focus on was keeping the room from spinning. 

“Are you okay?” Barry asked. Funny, considering the kid didn’t look much better than Len did now. Len just wanted one chance to get his hands on Scudder so he could bash the man’s teeth in. He didn’t usually find catharsis in hands-on brutality, but for this asshole he’d make an exception. 

“Glass of water and some pain killers, and I’ll be right as rain,” Len said. He seriously hoped he was right about that. He’d had a concussion before, which this definitely was, but he didn’t think any of the other damage was lasting, much as it hurt to move. 

“Here,” Barry said, and flipped on the light before leading Len to the counter in the kitchen. 

Len steadied himself against it, while Barry took off. Len didn’t try to follow the kid’s lightning streak for once; too dizzying. But when at one point he looked up and saw that his curtains had been drawn, he figured he understood what Barry was doing—covering every reflective surface he could find. Assuming that would help. 

Len finally turned and got a glass of water. Got his ibuprofen out of the medicine cabinet above the stove. He’d downed four of them and finished off the water by the time Barry zipped to a heaving stop in front of him. 

“I think that’s everything,” Barry said with a faint pant to his breath. His face had a few harsh looking dings, but Len guessed the kid’s body had it worse. 

He refilled the glass and handed it to Barry. The pills wouldn’t work on him, but water was something at least. Barry practically chugged it. “Come here,” Len said once he’d set the glass aside. 

He reached for the parka and pulled it from Barry’s shoulders to take in the sight of him. His feet were dirty, his shoulders and chest and _everywhere_ blossoming with bruises and scrapes. It made him look so small and fragile standing there in his underwear. Len trailed his fingertips down the center of Barry’s chest to his ribs where one of them had definitely been broken.

“I’ll be fine. I heal fast, remember?” Barry strained to smile. “Let me take care of _you_. You should be sitting.” Barry reached forward and placed his hand on Len’s less bruised and swollen cheek. Kid kept touching him every chance he could, seeking comforts Len didn’t usually offer. But then, Len had been doing the same thing, like he needed to feel Barry beneath his skin to remind himself he was really there and not just a reflection that would vanish. 

“Barry…” Len backed out of Barry’s touch. This was a bad idea. Barry needed more than just him tonight. He needed more than just _him_.

But Barry followed after Len and reached for his neck—gently, tentative—with a cringe on his face from how he’d clenched his hands there earlier. “Please, can I stay? I don’t want to go home yet.”

“Barry…they’re going to wonder what happened to you.”

“I’ll call them later. Later. I’ll tell them I’m okay, I just… Please,” his voice caught on a sob, “don’t make me leave.”

Len sighed. He’d never been able to refuse Lisa when she was crying either. “You can stay. If you’re sure?”

Barry nodded frantically. “You’re still hurt. I can help. Or maybe you should call your nurse? I can…I can wait upstairs while she’s here and—”

“Barry, it’s fine. You want to check me out, feel free. But I plan to clean myself up, ice several place on my body, and go to bed. I’ll see the nurse in the morning.”

“Okay,” Barry nodded again, but he didn’t let go. He kept his hand hooked around Len’s neck like it was a lifeline he needed to keep from crumbling to the floor. 

Len pulled Barry’s fingers from his neck himself, but held on tightly as he drew the hand down. “Come on. Gotta put all this away,” he said, and smiled as he turned and led Barry from the kitchen. 

Holding Barry in one hand and his parka in the other, Len felt more grounded, and managed the short trek to his secret room. It didn’t matter anymore; Barry knowing where he kept his gear seemed so trivial after tonight. 

When the invisible seal in the wall shifted and the door slid out of the way, Barry stepped up next to Len and peered inside curiously. Len had a few backup pieces stored—extra sweaters, pants, gloves—but otherwise the hook in the back for the parka was empty, and the stand for his cold gun lay waiting. 

“How James Bond of you,” Barry giggled, still somber, but a little realer, Len thought. 

When Len had put everything away save the sweater and pants he still wore, he snatched up his phone from inside the room, almost having forgotten he’d stashed it there. Dangerous to have it with him on a heist. He had several text messages and calls waiting for him from Lisa. Perfect. 

“Let me put my sister’s mind at ease,” he held up his phone. “Get yourself cleaned up and into some fresh clothes. Bring some down for me too. Then you can take care of me however you like.”

“First-aid kit?” Barry asked.

“Bathroom, under the sink.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less,” Len smirked, then frowned at his phone as soon as Barry had zipped away. 

He walked sluggishly toward the sofa, scrolling through Lisa’s text messages as he went. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he could feel his wounds more acutely. It eased his dizziness to have something to focus on though. 

_What the hell happened?!_

_Police at the museum, did they get you?!_

_Lenny, I will kick your ass from here to Sunday if you don’t answer me!_

_Can’t believe your boytoy is The Flash._

Len sagged into the end of the sofa. Mick had to go and open his big mouth. Not that Len had given Lisa much to work with, letting Barry whisk her and Mick out of the museum while he stayed inside. He would have told her about Barry eventually, but now the issue had been forced. 

_Safe. At home. Don’t come over_ , he sent her. 

He expected the immediate retort: _Busy entertaining The Flash?_

_Yes. It’s complicated._

_I’ll bet. You get the diamond?_

_Scudder beat us to it. I’ll explain tomorrow._ He debated telling her to avoid mirrors, but that would only broach more questions. She was safe from Scudder for now. As safe as anyone else. 

_You better. Jerk_ , she said, which was as close to ‘I love you’ as either of them got. 

Len smiled as he replied, _Brat_. 

“You really shouldn’t let me rummage through your clothes,” Barry’s voice carried over to Len from the stairway, “I find out all sorts of dirty secrets.” 

Len tossed his phone onto the coffee table and glanced over. Barry looked refreshed and clean, the visible bruises on his face already fading. He wore Len’s long-sleeved grey T-shirt and navy sleep pants, and carried the first-aid kit and a damp washcloth, along with a black shirt thrown over his arm for Len and a pair of red sleep pants…with yellow lightning bolts on them. 

_Shit._

“They were a gift.” 

“Sure they were.” That puppy smile was almost blinding in the way Len most adored, but there was a crack in it that couldn’t be banished. When Barry set the first-aid kit and cloth down on the coffee table, and sat beside Len, there was a heaviness between them painted in pain and bruises from the long night. 

“You don’t have to do that, Barry,” Len said. 

“Do what?”

“Smile for me.”

Barry’s expression was blank by the time he looked at Len. “I…I just feel like…if I don’t smile, I’ll start crying again and I won’t be able to stop.” On cue, a tear slipped free and dropped onto the fabric in his lap. He laughed and brushed it away. “To be fair, it’s not completely fake. Finding these totally deserved a smile.” He held up the Flash brand sleep pants.

Len chuckled with Barry, and maybe it was a broken sound, but it was still one they shared. Len wrinkled his nose at the clothes wondering how he could possibly summon enough energy to change into them. Barry must have noticed because he stood, and urged Len to stand up too.

“Relax. I’m gonna make this easy on you.”

“Easy? What do you—”

But in the time it took Len to gasp from the odd, feathery sensation that enveloped him, Barry was already finished. He stood before Len holding the remaining Cold gear in lieu of the sleep clothes, which now graced Len’s body. Len blinked in awe, too tired to complain or even make a snarky comment, other than cocking an eyebrow at the kid.

“You know, you’re still wearing your boots, _heathen_ ,” Barry teased him. 

Len laughed again as he sunk back into the sofa. “Smart-ass. Those I can get myself.” But he cringed as soon as he bent over, putting too much pressure on his bruised middle from when Barry had crushed him. He hissed and sat back up.

“I got ‘em,” Barry said.

What brave new world had Len built for himself that his enemy was welcome in his home and willing to get on his knees to remove his boots for him? Barry even brought them to the rug to continue the ongoing joke. Then he returned, sat beside Len again, and urged him to sit closer as he opened the first aid kit.

Len assumed Barry was usually the one being treated back at STAR Labs, but he knew how to tend to someone else with a gentle hand. He wiped the blood from Len’s cuts with the warm, wet cloth—across his lip, and above an eyebrow. He dabbed antiseptic cream on both of them and then bandaged the cut above Len’s eye. 

Barry’s hands were warm as he slid them up beneath Len’s shirt to feel gently at his ribs for breaks. He seemed satisfied with what he found, but Len couldn’t help wishing that the touch would linger. He shivered when Barry’s fingers pulled away. Barry left Len feeling cozy and content just by being near him, like he could curl up right then and go to sleep without a care in the world. 

“You shouldn’t sleep yet with a concussion,” Barry said when Len started to lie back. 

“So keep me company.” Len laid his head on the sofa’s pillow, and lifted his legs to stretch across Barry’s lap. Barry rested his hands on Len’s thighs. Such casual, constant touch. Len never allowed that with anyone. Not even Lisa. She tended to stray from touch as much as he did unless she had control over the situation. 

Len didn’t have control with Barry, he never had, but for once that didn’t leave him feeling weak or scared.

Barry’s green—so very green—eyes grew distant. Len hadn’t minded the quiet while Barry tended to him, but now it felt stifling. Barry should never be this still. Only his thumbs moved, gently grazing over the red and yellow sleep pants that Len thought clashed horribly with, well, everything about him. But then The Flash didn’t clash as much with Captain Cold as Len had always thought, so maybe he was wrong. 

“What happened, Scarlet?” Len asked. “What did you see? What did he do? Beat you around, fine, but it was more than that. And don’t tell me you don’t want to talk about it,” he pushed when Barry dropped his head back on the sofa. “Scudder’s after both of us.”

“Maybe. But he got inside my head. Got inside my…body and…” Barry shuddered at the memories. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, seeing too clearly the replay of events. “There was a maze of mirrors…with Scudder in every one of them. And me too. My reflection.” 

“With red eyes?” 

“Like _him_.”

“Barry…”

“He killed my mom,” Barry said with a catch in his voice. His watery eyes flicked to Len, and a chill ran through him as their gazes met, prickling his arms with goosebumps. “The speedster in yellow. He killed my mom.”

Len held Barry’s gaze, waited, gave the kid all the time in the world to decide if he was willing to say more. Finally, little by little, the rest of the story spilled out. 

Barry’s mother. His father being put away for a crime he didn’t commit. Wells. Thawne. _Time travel_. Len could hardly believe it all, and yet, of course he could, because he’d seen so much this past year. Anything was possible. Barry sat there in his apartment, holding Len’s legs in his lap that sported the kid’s own insignia across them—anything was possible. 

When Barry was done with his tale, he shifted his eyes to the ceiling again. “My reflection wore his suit, had his eyes, and I just…”

“Barry, listen to me,” Len gripped the kid’s hand. “Wells. Thawne. Whatever his name was. You are nothing like him.”

A sneer overtook Barry’s expression, and he tried to wrench his hand away, angry—anguished. “You know _nothing_ about what I’m like.” 

But Len refused to let go. “I think I do. Better than most.”

When Len wouldn’t release him, after several more half-hearted tugs, Barry gave up, mouth turning sharply downward, face red and blotchy with tears. He opened his mouth and looked at Len as if there was something terribly important he wanted to tell him, but he gave up on that too. 

“I’m just so tired,” he said. “Of everything. Of me.” 

The defeat in those words tore at Len. There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to see this man brought low. But now he knew him. Even before he did, he never would have wanted this. 

Len knew tired. And beaten down. He knew defeat as though the world would never let him win. He had made his own rules to conquer that a long time ago, but Barry had made him break almost all of them.

“So we’ll rest,” Len said. “And we’ll sleep. And we’ll figure this out. I do have a diamond to reclaim, after all,” he grinned.

Barry laughed, a sudden eruption that was sad and broken, but grateful. “Whatever you say, Len.”

Len didn’t know _what_ to say, but he didn’t think more words would be enough. He coaxed Barry to lean toward him, and even though it strained his sore ribs, Len leaned up to meet the kid halfway for a soft kiss. His lip stung, but he didn’t care.

Their loss tonight didn’t feel like a loss with Barry next to him.

Len couldn’t have said when they fell asleep, right there on the sofa in the same positions they’d started in. He only knew that when he roused, it was to the sound of gentle clattering and vibrations. He’d always been a light sleeper.

Len blinked at his phone within reaching distance on the coffee table, snatched it up, and glared at the number. Unknown. Panic seized him as he wondered if it was Scudder. His phone’s screen was reflective, wasn’t it? Did that matter? Did it have to be glass instead of plastic? Len grimaced at the swirl of fear in his belly.

The call ended, but immediately started up again. 

Len lifted his legs out of Barry’s hold. The kid frowned in his sleep and tried to turn toward him, so as Len stood, he guided Barry to lie down in his place. Barry’s bruises had all healed, which soothed Len, even though his own recovery wouldn’t be nearly as swift.

“Who is this?” Len answered coldly once he’d walked a safe distance across the room. At least nothing tilted around him, but his head still throbbed. He needed more painkillers. 

“Oh thank god,” came the voice on the other end. It was Cisco. “Dude, I know it’s the middle of the night, but I was going out of my mind. What took you so long?”

“How did you get this number?” Len scowled.

“Lisa.”

“ _Lisa_ —”

“It’s a long story. But she sounded pretty freaked when I told her what happened. Or as much as I knew anyway.”

“You _told_ her…” If Len had Scudder’s powers in that moment, he would have reached through the phone to throttle the kid. That was going to be a fun fall out, but at least Lisa hadn’t stormed right over to the apartment. “Barry is fine, Cisco. Where things concern me, however, I’d prefer you stay out of it.” 

“He’s fine… _how_ exactly?”

Len pinched the bridge of his nose. “Physically fine. Just messed up over Mirror Master.”

“What happened?”

“Not my place to say.”

“ _Cold_.”

“You’ll find I’m not as easily convinced to divulge other people’s secrets as my sister.”

Cisco huffed. His voice sounded hoarse as if he’d been up all night, but when he spoke again, he was plaintive more than frustrated. “Please, Snart. Just tell me something. Barry…he hasn’t been himself.”

The rawness of that statement made Len’s resolve to blow Cisco off waver. He glanced at Barry asleep on the sofa, and all the shields he’d usually throw up to protect himself seemed less important than protecting Barry. He leaned against his desk. “Scudder had a plan to kill us—get us to kill each other, whatever—but now he wants something else.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. But there are worse things than dying.”

Cisco went quiet save the sound of his breathing. Finally, he said, “Look, man, I…I know you’re how Barry’s been blowing off steam lately.”

“He told you.”

“No. Heard part of one of your rendezvous over the comms. He knows I know.”

Len didn’t answer.

“Just…don’t hit him while he’s low, okay? He’s been having a rough time. Rough even before this mess with Scudder.”

“I know. Ended up a little roughed up myself tonight.”

“You okay?” Cisco asked without hesitation. 

A smile tugged at the side of Len’s mouth, reminding him of his still healing lip. He stared down at his Flash brand sleep pants. “I’m fine, Cisco.”

“So, he’s...talked to you about things?”

This was a whole new level of dangerous. Whatever Len and Barry were, that was one thing; allowing Cisco into that confidence opened up Len’s small circle wider than he was usually comfortable with. But he didn’t want to lie or dismiss what was being asked of him, not this time. “Yeah. He has.”

“Good,” Cisco said exhaustedly, like there was relief in having someone else be part of _his_ small circle. “I don’t know much about this whole thing between you two. I only just found out. But you better not do anything to make me track your phone and come over there to kick your ass.” 

Len released a small chuckle. “Now that would be a sight to see. Might have to think up something to rile you just for the show.” 

“Dude, come on, don’t be a dick,” Cisco said with equal humor. Then more seriously, “Please.”

Just as quickly as it had formed, Len’s smile faltered. From his desk, he could see the full form of Barry sprawled out on the sofa, taking up every bit of available space, while his hand reached out as if still seeking the loss of Len’s warmth. 

Dangerous was how Len had lived his entire life. He wasn’t about to change that now. He knew what he wanted, what he was and wasn’t willing to give up, even if everything else about his life was about to change forever. 

“He’s safe with me, Cisco.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cisco said with a stunted laugh. “How messed up is that?” 

XXXXX

Barry woke to the smell of breakfast. It made him smile in his half-dozing state, because this time his brain remembered that he was with Snart, and he loved the thief’s cooking. Loved how Snart cooked for him at all. How he took care of him. But when Barry’s eyes opened to find the living room ceiling, he remembered why they’d ended up on the sofa. 

Despite the grumble of Barry’s empty stomach, the food didn’t smell as appetizing. 

Barry sat up slowly. The coffee table had been cleared of any traces of last night. When he looked behind him, Snart had already showered and dressed for the day, wearing the bright teal button down Barry loved as he busied himself in the kitchen making pancakes and eggs. His cuts were healing nicely, less angry, but his bruises were bright and colorful to remind Barry of everything he had allowed to happen.

“Best you’ll ever have,” Snart said, as he flipped the last of a batch of pancakes onto a plate. Several other stacks and some scrambled eggs awaited Barry on a platter, while an empty plate sat in front of his usual spot at the kitchen island. 

The pit in Barry’s stomach deepened. _Best you’ll ever have._ Snart meant the food, and it was likely true, given how much Barry loved his cooking, but all he could think about was his own words to Snart when their affair first started. 

_I’m gonna ruin you for everybody else._

Scudder was right. Barry’s _reflection_ was right. He was like Eobard. He’d put good people in harm’s way. He’d intended to do terrible things to others just because he wanted to. He’d manipulated and hurt people simply because he could. And he was a worse villain for doing it while pretending he was in the right. He couldn’t keep pretending anymore. 

“I should go.” Barry stood and kept his eyes trained forward as he moved for the door.

“Go? Without breakfast?” Snart called after him. “What a poor house guest, Scarlet. You’re still wearing my clothes.”

“Oh, I…” Barry looked down at himself. He was. “I’ll get them back to you.”

“Barry—”

“I need to go home, check in at the Labs, and work…” Fuck, work. Barry couldn’t even think about going in today, but it was only Tuesday. He couldn’t call in sick, not after another heist. Singh would be all over him. 

“We need to discuss a plan for Scudder—”

Barry flinched at the name, tried not to look at Snart as he came out of the kitchen to intercept him. “I know. We will. I’ll think of something. He wants me more than you. He won’t attack right away.”

“Barry, will you look at me?” 

“Thanks for letting me stay here.” Barry kept his feet moving and reached for the doorknob. 

Snart’s hand closed around his wrist. Barry’s instincts were to wrench it away, but the touch was gentle. A month ago he never would have believed Snart could be so gentle. “You can call me. Anytime.”

Didn’t Snart know Barry was poison? Of course he didn’t. Because Barry had been lying to him from the start. “I know.”

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me last night?”

 _Yes_. But Barry couldn’t. Not today. Not now. “It’s not important,” he lied—again. 

He glanced over his shoulder, and all he could see when he looked at the man behind him was the damage he’d caused. Barry needed a day to process, to plan. Then, the next time he saw Snart, he’d tell him the truth. And end things for good. 

“I’ll see ya around, Snart.”

“Barry—”

Barry pulled away, opened the door, and took off running at Flash speed before anything could be said to stop him.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst angst is yet to come.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Len deal with the aftermath of Scudder's attack. Barry finally talks with Wally, and makes some questionable decisions. Len remains certain Barry will come around. And Scudder puts into motion the next part of his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people are just...too amazing for words. Every comment means the world to me, you don't even know, so thank you!

Barry placed the fiber under his microscope to get a better look. Work was work, and had a sort of comforting monotony that made it hard to believe everything with Scudder had happened only last night. Barry already had a pile of evidence on his desk from the museum heist to go through. He’d initially worried that the fiber that had been snagged from inside the diamond’s glass case would be from Snart’s parka, but at a glance, it appeared to be orange. 

Barry had gone home first after leaving Snart’s apartment that morning. He’d plastered on a wary smile for his family, prepared for the third degree from Joe, only to find his father nonchalantly pleased to see him. 

“Hey, Barr. Was Scudder that rough on you? Didn’t get much out of Cisco other than you crashing at his place afterward.”

Cisco was a good friend. The _best_ friend. He’d covered for Barry, only telling Joe that Scudder was at fault for the heist at the museum, and explaining Barry’s absence, but not the specifics. All Barry added was that he’d have to work hard at his day job to pin the heist on Scudder, and that the meta might prove to be one of his worst adversaries yet, but he was working on how best to handle it. 

“Keep me in the loop, okay?”

“I will, Joe.” 

Barry meant it, he did. As soon as he had a plan. 

With Cisco and Caitlin at the Labs, he wasn’t as off the hook. The first words out of his mouth were an apology for having disappeared and for making them worry. He was fine. He was safe. Snart had taken care of him. Which of course led to a frown and furrowed brow from Caitlin. Cisco hadn’t told her anything, but now Barry had to.

He started at the beginning and told them both everything— _everything_. The only thing he left out was that it had all been a lie for his own twisted pleasure. He didn’t think he could handle their disgust with him over that. But he did tell them about his reflection in the Mirror Maze. 

“Dude, you are not like Wellsobard just because you’ve been a little off lately,” Cisco insisted. “You’re depressed not psychotic.”

“Cisco,” Caitlin interrupted, but Barry just gave a broken laugh, because he didn’t want to correct Cisco and admit that sometimes he felt like he was both. “It’s okay, Barry. You’ll be okay.”

Maybe if they said it enough, he’d finally start to believe it.

Cisco admitted that he’d known Barry was safe with Snart, because he’d called the thief during the night. “He didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t give him much of a chance to,” Barry said. “I ran out of there pretty fast this morning.”

“Barry…” Caitlin sighed with a ready lecture coming about sleeping with the enemy, Barry could feel it. He held up a hand to stop her. 

“I know, okay? I get it. It’s reckless, and stupid, and a bad idea all around. That’s why I’m going to end it. You guys don’t have to worry anymore. I thought he was making things easier, but he’s just been a crutch. That isn’t fair to him. Or me. Or anyone. I’ll end it. It’s better for everyone, especially with Scudder involved.” 

Caitlin nodded in sympathy, not judging him for what he’d been doing with Snart, though she still said, “You’re probably right, Barry. It’s for the best.” 

Cisco kept quiet while the three of them were together, but his frown was evident, his disapproval in the tight crossing of his arms. After Caitlin had checked Barry over for lasting injuries, Cisco pulled him aside. 

“Are you sure about this? About Snart? Last night…man, I hate to say it, but he may be less of a douchebag than even I gave him credit for. Is ending things really what you want? I mean, besides him being a notorious criminal and all…what am I missing? Coz it seems like he really cares about you.”

That should have been sweet to hear, uplifting, but it plummeted Barry’s stomach to his toes and left the taste of bile in his mouth. “It’s too complicated, Cisco. Too…hard. A bad idea, like I said. For me. But don’t take my example. I think Lisa would be worth the gamble.” Barry tried to smile again, tried to be supportive as he gripped his friend’s arm and squeezed, but it was getting harder and harder to fake being okay. He wanted to finally be okay, to be back to a place in his life where he could be open with everyone instead of wearing so many masks. 

Cisco’s frown deepened. “I know she is. So just…be sure you’re right about Snart before you do something you’ll regret.”

Barry regretted everything, but he knew he was making the right call this time.

Cisco told him about The Invisible Man suit, that it had been gone when he and Caitlin reached the alley. Barry cursed himself for being so foolish, regardless of his emotional state last night. He didn’t want to think about what the suit’s disappearance might mean. When Cisco mentioned that they had, however, retrieved Cold’s goggles, Barry told him to hang onto them. Next time he saw Snart, he’d give them back.

“It’s creepy though, that Mirror Master could be eavesdropping or watching us at any time,” Cisco shuddered. “We’ll think up some precautions, man, maybe something to project onto reflections to keep him out? I’ll work on it… In the meantime, try not to talk shop too vocally next to any mirrors,” he grinned and gave Barry’s back a firm pat.

Barry knew he wasn’t trying to underplay the real danger, just trying to make Barry smile and feel a little better about an impossible situation. No one could escape their reflection… 

Before leaving the Labs, Barry took two of his neglected pills straight off. Never more than two a day, Caitlin had said, but she hadn’t said he couldn’t take two at once. He just needed something to help him start the day, something to ease the ache. 

That taste of bile didn’t leave him when he reached the precinct, as he was reminded that Scudder could very well have sent footage of Captain Cold and The Flash making out in the museum to the authorities or to the papers, maybe even footage of Snart and _Barry_ , or of Barry being The Flash—who knows what evidence the madman had—but nothing surfaced. Barry went through his morning, his afternoon, his day, without any sign that Scudder planned to out their secrets. Not yet anyway. 

As Barry expected, the crime scene had no evidence of ice residue, or gold, or anything so badly burnt that Heat Wave could be blamed. There was just the glass, and the fiber Barry was checking now. 

His phone buzzed beside him, pulling his eye from the microscope. The fiber was orange all right, not from the parka, and seemed to be made out of some sort of Lycra. Scudder’s green cuffs were metal, but the suit itself might be a type of fabric Barry could trace. He wouldn’t know until he got the rest of his tests back. 

He checked the newest message on his phone. It was another one from Snart. He’d texted Barry earlier, right after he’d left the man’s apartment, though Barry hadn’t noticed it until he got to work. 

_It’s Len, Scarlet. Not Snart. Don’t forget it._

This time the message said, _Gonna have to help me celebrate when this lip heals._

Barry smiled. But no. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_. He had to end it. He hadn’t responded to Snart’s first message, because he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t end things over the phone, didn’t want to be too obvious about the state of things, but he didn’t want to encourage Snart either. 

All he could think to text back was, _Sorry. Stay safe._

_Be easier to do that if we had a plan for Scudder._

Barry sighed. _I know. Just give me some time to think._

 _Don’t keep me waiting too long._

That same smile twitched at Barry’s lips, because he knew Snart meant that in more than one way. But that just made his smile fall faster. 

Barry glanced at his other text messages to see if he’d missed anything important. He had so many from his dad. Soon he’d be ready to talk to him again, but he had so much to apologize for. He knew that the longer he held off hearing his dad’s voice, the harder it got to take that first step. But common sense didn’t change the swirl of anxiety in his gut. 

It was afternoon now. Barry wished he could take another pill, but he’d already had two. They’d helped during the morning. He’d felt better once he got to work and settled into his normal routine for a while. Now he wished he could take just one more. Would one really make that much of a difference with his hyperactive metabolism?

“Another piece of evidence from the museum heist last night, Allen,” one of the uniformed officers said as he entered the lab. 

Barry set his phone aside and ignored the urge to grab the bottle of pills from his bag. “Hey, Boyd. Thanks. Just set it in the inbox. I should be able to get right to it.”

“Anything to please the captain, right?” Officer Boyd said with a friendly smile. 

Barry chuckled as honestly as he could. After Boyd left, he finished looking over the orange fiber, but his microscope wouldn’t tell him as much as the tests he had running. Using tweezers with a surgeon’s precision, he slipped the fiber back into the evidence bag and set it in his outbox. He reached for the new item that Boyd had brought him, but once he held the bag up to the light, he nearly dropped it. 

It was Snart’s earpiece. The comms Barry had ripped from his ear when he attacked him. 

Barry didn’t know where the comms had come from originally, but he’d never seen anything like it. It had to be custom made. Snart probably had a tech guy somewhere with access to good quality equipment. Some parts might be untraceable, but well, Barry was very good at his job. He’d likely be able to trace some of the components to the manufacturer, figure out what businesses in Central sold them, which would lead the police right to Len’s neighborhood. 

Shit. This was exactly the type of thing Barry hoped for from a case. But not today. Not when it was Len’s, and Barry doing his job could put the thief in the line of fire. He was already wanted by the police after breaking out of jail on murder charges, but things would be so much worse if the CCPD started lurking around Snart’s neighborhood and found out where he lived.

Barry fought the urge to throw the earpiece in the trash. Which of course he couldn’t actually do. 

Could he? 

Evidence went missing all the time. Or got misplaced. Mislabeled. Maybe it was for a different case and Boyd had been wrong when he brought it in to Barry. Maybe it got stolen. There could be so many reasons for it to disappear…

And catch the attention of Internal Affairs. 

No. Barry couldn’t. Snart hadn’t asked him to do anything. He was just doing his job, running the earpiece through the usual scrutiny and tests. 

But as he held the item in his hand, only separated from his skin by the thick plastic bag it had been cataloged in, Barry couldn’t help thinking that he owed Snart. After all, Snart wasn’t really the culprit this time. Scudder had the diamond. Going after Snart would just lead the police in the wrong direction. As long as Barry did his job, got that fiber to point at Scudder, figured out some way as The Flash to prove Scudder was behind this heist like the others and catch him, then it wouldn’t matter if one tiny earpiece went missing. Right?

Before Barry could lose his nerve, he shoved the bag into his bottom desk drawer. He’d dispose of it later. 

XXXXX

Len frowned again at the slew of stilted text messages from Barry. Kid wasn’t giving him even an inch. Scudder had gotten too deep inside his head, driven a wedge between them that treating each other’s wounds and snuggling on the sofa with raw emotion flowing out of them both hadn’t been able to remedy. 

He frowned harder as he glanced around his apartment. He’d tried to rest after Barry dashed off. Tried to busy himself with cleaning up his place when he got antsy from sitting around doing nothing. Took more pain killers when his head started to ache. Iced his lip and eye. Considered one too many times whether or not to just tear away all of the coverings Barry had placed over his reflective surfaces. 

Did it even matter? There had to be something Len was forgetting, something small enough for Scudder to eavesdrop through, even if he couldn’t physically get to him through something so small. Not that Len wanted to look in the mirror any time soon anyway. Probably looked like shit. 

He sat on the armrest of the couch, starting and deleting a dozen more messages to Barry. The kid would come around. He would. Len just had to be patient. 

The sound of a key being turned in his locked door went on for far too many seconds before Len reacted. He blamed the concussion, as he rushed the door with ready fists just as it started to open. 

“Jesus!” Lisa called out, jerking back into the hallway, before scowling and storming inside past him and the raised fist still clutching his phone. “You expecting an ambush, slick? It’s just me.”

Len tried not to groan as his heartrate stuttered back to normal. His adrenaline had been spiked too high all day, waiting for Scudder to make some move. Waiting for Barry to answer him with something other than deflection. “Just because you have a key, doesn’t mean you can enter without knocking,” he snarled, shutting and locking the door behind her.

“Shit, Lenny, what the hell?” she said to his beaten face when he turned around to face her. She stood in his entryway, arms crossed, the truth of her concern only visible in the twitch of her eye.

“Not in the mood right now, Lise.” He pushed past her back toward the sofa and dropped his phone onto the coffee table.

She bounded after him. “Not in the mood? Are you fucking kidding me?” She hovered over him menacingly as he dropped down onto the cushions feeling every one of his bruises jostle. The couch still smelled like Barry. “You look like someone’s punching bag. You know, I could have come over the second I woke up this morning, and believe me, I thought about it. Figured if I did though, Flash might be down to his smallclothes, and you’d be pissed at me for seeing just how low he can blush.”

Len snorted. She was in rare form today. “Lisa…”

“You’re _welcome_.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you. For being patient and waiting to come over.”

When he opened his eyes again, she nodded in satisfaction. She sat down next to him, eyes following the shades of purple and ugly green across his face and the lines of his cuts with practiced eyes. “Scudder did this?”

“Not…technically.”

“Meaning?”

Len didn’t answer. 

“ _Flash_?” Her eyes grew fiercer as she spat the name.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” She flared with a rare fury, and he instantly regretted his choice of words. “Why? Coz he didn’t mean it? Coz you deserved it? Or just coz you made him _mad_?”

The same questions from a dozen— _hundreds_ —of encounters with their father over the years made Len’s insides twist. “That’s not what this is,” he snapped, and held her gaze until she relaxed, marginally, into the cushion behind her. “You think I’d go for that bullshit?” 

“I’d sure as hell hope not,” she said then shifted until they were sitting side by side, shoulders just barely brushing, both looking forward. “So. What did happen?” 

Len wished he’d had more time to himself, to think all of this over, before confessing the dirty truth to her, but another hour, another day, another week, wouldn’t change any of the facts. So he told her—sans Barry’s name—all about how they’d gotten involved. About Scudder. About last night. He didn’t sugar coat how Barry _had_ meant him harm at one point, but when all was said and done, the flash of murderous intent in her eyes had quelled. 

There was more to Barry than his mistakes. There had to be if Len was supposed to believe the same about himself. 

“So Scudder knows The Flash’s identity?” Lisa said, after they’d fallen into silence. She tapped her fingers over to his knee, until he grasped her hand with his own. “And I don’t even get to know? That’s low, Lenny. Took my advice and I don’t even get any credit for it? I said if he’s cute and you fuck him more than once, I get a name.” 

Len had to laugh. “You have a name. It’s The Flash.” 

“Real funny.” 

Len ran his thumb over the top of her hand. “For all I know, Scudder has all of that footage at the papers already. Maybe he doesn’t. Either way, I’ll have to lay low for a while.”

“Lenny…”

“What?”

She looked at him, and her blue eyes, so like his, so like _Mom’s_ , made him squeeze her hand a little tighter. “This isn’t just playing around. Always knew you had it bad for Flash’s tight little body in that suit, but this…” Her faint smirk had an edge of seriousness to it.

He couldn’t let her say it, couldn’t say it himself yet, but he couldn’t deny it either. So he just said, “I know.” They sat a moment longer before he cleared his throat. “So what about you?”

“What about me?” She played coy, but her tone gave away that she knew exactly where he was headed.

“Cisco called.”

“Figured he would. I facebooked him before. He messaged me last night. We talked. Told me how fucked up scary this whole thing is with Scudder. Eventually I gave him your number.”

“That easily, huh?”

“Trust me,” she said, with a flicker of a smile that looked far too much like a little girl’s he’d once known, “it wasn’t easy. But it might get there.”

Len really hoped she was right. For both of them. “You get any loot out?” 

Lisa smirked. “Flash didn’t exactly check my pockets. Mick’s pissed he didn’t get his painting though.” 

“I’ll make it up to him.” Len sighed as he let Lisa’s hand go, and sat up to rest his arms on his thighs. He couldn’t sulk all day. He had to plan. Had to fix this. “Scudder has the diamond. That I intend to reclaim. But first I gotta pay a visit to our resident tech genius.” He glanced at his sister, who sat forward to match him. “Care to join me?”

“Sounds like fun,” she said with a grin that twisted into a grimace when she looked him over more closely. “Plus you need me today.” 

“Oh?” he challenged her. 

“Yeah. Go alone, and you’re likely to scare poor Hartley straight.” 

Len laughed so hard he hissed at how it stretched his split lip. “Ow,” he said pointedly and glared at her for good measure. 

“Who’s the train wreck today, huh?” she smirked, and leaned forward to gently peck him on the forehead. 

It soothed Len like touch from so few people could. In fact, maybe only touch from her…and Barry could. Mick wasn’t exactly a hugger. And Len didn’t trust many others. It’s one of the real reasons he strayed from touch at all from people he didn’t know. Enjoying the way someone’s touch felt against your skin gave them power over you that could so easily be turned into something cruel. 

Len grabbed his coat, put on his glasses since he’d never bothered with contacts today, and slid a ball cap onto his head to better hide his injuries and his identity. He brought his cold gun along, just in case Scudder or anyone else tried to take advantage of his condition, and locked his apartment up tight behind him as they left.

It felt good to be out, to get coffee and a cruller at the bakery. Len hadn’t been able to stomach his pancakes after Barry left. Janey frowned and worried after the state of his face, but he insisted he was fine. 

The sun was shining, the wind a light cooling breeze, and the streets were lively without anyone hurrying along in fear. The neighborhood was safe. Safe and happy and his. Lord help Scudder if he ever dared do anything to the people here, though the bastard better watch out regardless after the damage he’d caused. 

Len brought an extra coffee and a donut for Hartley, though it was nearing lunch now and the kid was likely on break. The shop was a father and son place; it closed down for lunch every day from noon to one, so when he and Lisa realized the time and found the front door locked, they headed in through the back. Lisa might have a key to Len’s place, but he had a key to almost every business in the entire neighborhood—by their own offering. 

“Hart!” Len called as they snuck in through the back between the main shop and the far back where Hartley stored his secret gadgets. 

“Oh shit!” came a muffled reply before Len and Lisa rounded the corner of a high shelf to find Hartley lifted up onto one of his work tables with Arden Andrews Junior between his legs. At least no one’s pants were off yet.

“Oh my,” Lisa said with complete unabashed pleasure at this discovery. “Arty Andrews, you devil.”

Hartley groaned as he tried to hide the flush of his face behind Arty’s shoulder. The young shop keep’s hands were up Hartley’s sweater, and Arty’s flannel was unbuttoned as he turned his bearded face their direction. 

“Not one word,” Hartley said muted against Arty’s neck. 

“Not even if that word is congrats?” Len smirked.

Hartley groaned again. 

Arty, for all his usual pleasant charm, looked none too pleased at the interruption, but he stretched his smile anyway, slid his hands out of Hartley’s shirt, and let them rest possessively at the kid’s hips. “Something we can help you with, Mr. Snart?” 

Len shared a knowing glance with Lisa, but had to shrug. “Sorry for the cold shower, Arty. Truly. Any other time I’d say we’ll come back later, but we’re in a bit of a crisis.” He took a few steps closer into the light of the room, and pulled the hat from his head to better reveal his bruises and cuts. Arty instantly stepped out from between Hartley’s legs with a look of concern. 

Hartley, still blushing rather colorfully, peeked over finally as he was left without his buffer, and gaped when he saw Len, previous embarrassment and irritation vanishing. “What the hell happened to you? The heist? I heard about the police, but figured you got away clean.”

He jumped down from the table and straightened his shirt, then his glasses, as his countenance shifted to being ‘on the job’. Arty grudgingly started buttoning up his shirt, but held some sympathy in his blue eyes for Len’s face. 

“Not exactly,” Len said. “It’s a longer story than I care to get into right now, but there are a couple things you need to be aware of.” 

Since the shop was closed for the next forty-five minutes, Arty stuck around. It was always his prerogative to know the ins and outs as shop owner of where Len got his best equipment, but usually Arty preferred plausible deniability. This time he was concerned, though maybe more for Hartley’s involvement than his own. He leaned against the work table and listened in as Len explained some of what had gone down at the museum last night. 

“So my goggles are where right now?” Hartley crossed his arms indignantly, having refused the coffee and donut Len offered.

“Likely with Team Flash.” 

“And my comms?”

“Possibly with the police.” 

Hartley threw his hands down to his sides and leaned in toward Len threateningly—one of very few people who would dare. “Well let’s hope you’re wrong or all of us are screwed.”

With a flourish, Hartley stormed across the room for a computer desk against the far wall. Like the various worktables, every item covering the desk was perfectly aligned as if it had every right to be sitting there. 

Len and the others followed him. Len couldn’t decipher much of the coding Hartley typed in, bringing up various surveillance and tracking programs, but in the end, a map of Central City was displayed showing two distinct blinking lights—one at STAR Labs, and the other at the downtown CCPD precinct. 

Hartley’s lips pursed as he typed in additional code. “Our white hat friends have the goggles. More concerning, however, is that the comms appear to already be in process. Though in the spare CSI lab, not the main one, if that’s any help.”

 _Barry’s lab_ , Len supplied. “Can you tell where it is in the room?” he asked. 

“Thinking you can swipe it?”

“If necessary.”

“The tracker doesn’t work that specifically. Which room is as close as I can get. But…” Hartley glanced up at Len over his shoulder and smirked, “I might be able to do us one better.” 

A new image popped up on the screen, blue and distorted like a negative photo. Len squinted to take it all in. It looked like some sort of cube. 

“Are you 3D projecting its surroundings?” Lisa leaned forward, eyes marveling at the display. She’d taken more of an interest in the technical side of things ever since a certain engineer appeared on the scene. Len shot her an impressed raise of his eyebrow. She shrugged.

“Sort of like sonar,” Hartley explained.

“Wow, Hart,” Arty leaned in to look more closely as well, brushing Hartley’s shoulder with his own. “That is amazing.” 

Len caught how Hartley fought the genuine smile teasing at his lips. “Looks like it’s in a desk drawer,” Hartley said. “Which is…not protocol at all. Unless they think they’re dealing with a volatile substance. Maybe the comms got contaminated by something?”

Len knew nothing like that had happened, and evidence didn’t go slipping into someone’s desk drawer by chance. Barry had put it there on purpose rather than work it into circulation with the rest of the evidence from the heist. He was protecting Len. 

Len found himself fighting a smile just as Hartley had. “We’re fine,” he said, patting the back of Hartley’s chair. “I think that item is about to be misplaced.” 

“What? Why?” Lisa asked slowly.

“You have an in at the CSI office?” Hartley asked. “But the only CSI who uses that room is Barry Allen, and he’s…” His eyes widened just as Len remembered that the young man already knew The Flash’s secret identity. Shit. As Hartley put two and two together, he swiveled his chair to stare up at Len with a newfound expression of awe. “Cold. You really do got a pair on you, don’t you?”

Lisa and Arty exchanged equally perplexed glances, but Lisa was smart enough to understand that if Len had an ‘in’ at the CCPD, it likely had something to do with who he was sleeping with. And since she knew he was sleeping with The Flash…

Len wished he could blame this mishap on the concussion, but it was just plain carelessness on his part that in one fell swoop two more people knew the full extent of his secret—and Barry’s. 

“Wait…” Lisa grinned madly as the pieces fell into place. She leaned on Hartley’s shoulder. “Can you pull up a picture?”

“No,” Len said warningly. 

“Aww, come on, Lenny, be a good sport.”

Len pinned both Hartley and Lisa with his most threatening glare as he leaned into them, until Hartley lost his smile, and Lisa…rolled her eyes. “This information never leaves this room. Understood?” They both nodded, Hartley more immediately than Lisa. Then Len shifted his glare onto Arty, who held up his hands. 

“I am thoroughly confused about what we’re even talking about.”

“Good.” 

“At least I got my name,” Lisa muttered, causing Len to feel utterly defeated by this entire day. He didn’t know how he was going to explain this to Barry. If he did. Maybe he wouldn’t. Hartley and Lisa wouldn’t use this information against either of them—other than to torture Len at every opportune moment. 

Thankfully, Lisa was diverted from her mission to pry into every aspect of Len’s love life by prying a little into Hartley’s—which at the moment was more immediately accessible. She draped an arm over Arty’s shoulder, with her most flirtatious lilt and bat of her eyes to inquire how these two kids had gotten together, prompting a scowl from Hartley. 

Once it was obvious that Lisa wasn’t ready to let Arty go any time before 1pm when they had to reopen the shop, Hartley whispered to Len out of the others’ earshot. 

“So…how serious is this thing with you and the Scarlet Speedster?” He sipped on the coffee he’d finally accepted and took a bite of his donut.

Len sighed. “Just…give me an extra set of comms in the meantime. I’ll get the goggles back myself.” 

“No trouble for you to _slip_ inside?” Hartley grinned. “STAR Labs, I mean?”

“Hart. Don’t be cute.” 

“Please. Like I have to try.” 

And damn if Len couldn’t help smiling again. The day was a mess. His whole life was a mess. But some things weren’t as disastrous as he’d thought. He knew what he wanted. Maybe Barry did too, if the hidden comms were any indication. For now, Len just had to give the kid some time. 

XXXXX

By the end of the day, Barry had most of his results in about the fiber. Milliskin matte fabric, in a shade of orange that none of the Central City suppliers seemed to carry. Which meant that Scudder had either ordered the fabric for his suit online, or he’d gotten it from somewhere outside the city. 

It definitely didn’t point fingers toward Snart, but it didn’t point any at Scudder either. 

Barry decided that the best way to get the comms out of the precinct would be to wait, come back in during the night as The Flash, faster than anyone could track or trace, then deliver them to Snart whenever he was ready to see him again. Trying to smuggle the comms out as Barry Allen would likely blow up in his face. 

He had no plans to patrol that night, but he’d forgotten until he got home that tonight was when they were moving in most of Wally’s things, his first night in the house, since he didn’t have classes Wednesday mornings and could finish bringing things over during the next day. 

Seeing Wally again for the first time since the blowup was like a splash of ice water down Barry’s back. Wally smiled as soon as he saw him come in through the front door, like Barry was something to be amazed by, rather than feared or uncomfortable around. 

“Hey, Barry,” he said, box in his arms as he was about to head upstairs. 

“Hey…Wally. Tonight’s the night, huh? I’ll help out in a sec.”

“Great! Yeah…that would be great.” Wally almost tripped up the first step as he shuffled backwards, that blinding wide smile like Joe’s on full display. 

For the man Wally thought of as his hero. Even though Barry had practically screamed at him. 

Barry mustered a smile that dropped the second Wally dashed up the stairs. He shouldn’t be anyone’s role model right now. He hadn’t even apologized to Wally yet. 

Part of Barry wished he could escape again. Usually, he’d escape to Snart. But he had to learn to face these moments when he wasn’t okay without running. Joe and Iris didn’t know the full extent of what had happened last night, only that Scudder had been behind the heist. Barry needed to tell them the truth, but he couldn’t tell them everything without coming clean about Snart, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. After he ended things with Snart it would be easier to explain. 

“Hey, Barr,” Iris said as she came down the stairs to grab one of the other boxes already piled up by the landing. “Anything in particular you want on your pizza? I was just about to order. And hey, for once you don’t have to eat an extra pizza by yourself in the kitchen.” She tilted her head with a warm smile.

The pain of faking a smile back at her was more than he could handle today. She’d told him he didn’t have to do that. That he never had to do that. So he kept his face neutral and just…looked at her.

“Barry?” She came right up to him and hugged him. “You okay?”

He held her and took two deep breaths before answering, “No.”

“Can I do anything?”

Barry snuffled against her shoulder and pulled back. “No,” he said with a smile, and meant it, if only because his best friend was always there for him. “This,” he gestured at the boxes, “and pizza will be good. Really. I’m not okay, but I think I can be. So maybe…hamburger, green pepper, olives?”

Iris made an exaggerated disgusted face. “I don’t know if I’m willing to go that far for you, Barry.”

Barry laughed. God he loved her.

“There he is,” Joe came down the stairs next with Wally right behind him. “Ready to get to work?”

“Wait a sec, Dad,” Wally said, his smile still broad across his face. “We could get to pizza faster if we had a little,” he looked to Barry hopefully, “ _extra_ help?”

Barry set his messenger bag down on the floor as he released another chuckle. “Oh you think so, huh? I don’t know, Wally. Joe, don’t you have some speech prepared about how manual labor helps build character?”

“I do,” Joe jumped in with a nod and wag of his finger, “I do have a speech about that. What kind of father would I be if I let you use The Flash to get off the hook of unpacking?” he said with a hushed, secretive tone when he said ‘The Flash’.

“Uhh, a really cool one?” Wally grinned then looked at Barry again with a bashful shrug. “Assuming you’re okay with it, Barry?”

There was so much left unsaid between them, but Wally was giving him an olive branch anyway. Sure, maybe it was because Barry was The Flash, someone Wally admired, but the young man also knew that there was more to Barry than all the good The Flash had done, more than all the bad Barry had done, more than any single part of him. 

“Do I get to choose first pizza?” Barry quirked an eyebrow.

“Urg,” Iris said in revulsion, “I wouldn’t agree to that one, Wally.”

But Wally rubbed his hands together like the only thing he’d ever ask for was to see The Flash in action. “Deal.”

Barry motioned with his hands like parting the Red Sea, and Joe and Wally moved away from the staircase. “Ready?” he said, and when Wally nodded, Barry zipped every single box up to Wally’s new bedroom as fast as he could, then returned for Joe, Iris, and Wally in turn and deposited each of them on Wally’s bed, which at the moment was nothing but a mattress. 

They were all laughing when Barry collapsed down amongst them and felt Wally nudge his arm in gratitude.

Barry pulled out his phone. “Now about that hamburger, green pepper, and olive pizza…”

There was a little furniture left to bring up, some maneuvering that required finesse beyond super speed, and of course Wally would have to do all of his smaller unpacking himself—Joe wouldn’t budge on that one. But it was nice to have family night without feeling like there was some large part of Barry he couldn’t share—some part of him he couldn’t be. Plus he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Joe so genuinely giddy, which might have had something to do with how easily Wally called him ‘Dad’ these days.

Barry’s phone buzzed several times while they waited for the pizza to arrive, and he tried to ignore it, tried to focus on being with his family and letting the rest of the world fall away. It was Wally who finally said something. 

“Hey…it’s okay,” he smiled, the next time Barry’s pants pocket buzzed from his phone. “Could be important, right?”

Barry saw the sympathy in Wally’s eyes, the apology for things Barry would never begrudge the young man, not after how Barry had reacted in turn. He nodded and snuck a peek at his phone. 

_Len._ A few earlier ones were from Cisco and work, but the newest one was from Snart. And oh how Barry wanted to steal that moment to see what the message said. 

“Thanks, Wally. I’ll just be a sec.”

He walked out of Wally’s room and headed for his own, waiting to pull up the text until he’d shut his door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. 

_Whatever you need to get Scudder. Whenever you’re ready. I’m here._

No pressure about talking, or replying to the message even, or discussing the elephant in the room of whatever this was between them that went so much further than sex. The message simply said that Len would be there when Barry needed him to face the monster hiding in the shadows. 

Barry looked over at the mirror on his bedroom wall. It would be pointless to try to cover every mirror in the house. He’d done his best at Snart’s, but mirrors, reflections, they were everywhere. All Scudder needed was to know which one to look through. Maybe he didn’t know where Barry lived yet. Maybe he didn’t know this particular mirror. Maybe he did. But whatever Barry figured out to stop Scudder, he couldn’t do it alone. 

He texted back, _Thanks, Len_ , and hovered over the dial pad trying to think of more to say, or if he should just call Snart. He wanted to. But he couldn’t tell him the truth over the phone, and the next time he spoke to him, he had to come clean. He had to end it. He had to…

A knock at the door barely registered with Barry until Wally entered. “Pizza’s here. Barry?” He stepped inside with downturned eyes when their gazes met as if Barry’s expression laid bare every emotion he was feeling. 

Barry held up his phone, but he couldn’t get up, couldn’t move yet. “No fires. Literal or figurative,” he tried to crack a smile. 

“You okay?” Wally ignored Barry’s dismissal as he moved further into the room. He sat beside Barry, and when Barry took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, Wally beat him to it. “Really, I mean. Joe and Iris didn’t tell me much. Which, you’re not obligated to either, if you’re going through stuff, I get it…”

“Wally…” Barry hung his head and clutched his phone tightly with both hands. “You’re the one going through stuff right now. You just lost your mom. You shouldn’t have to put up with me.” 

“Are you serious?” Wally looked at him squarely when Barry finally tilted his head up. “You are one of the few people who knows what this feels like. Whatever you’re going through now, one person’s tragedy doesn’t make someone else’s any lesser. However small you think your problems are compared to either of us losing our moms…it still feels like the world’s falling apart, right?” 

Barry didn’t answer. Wally had summed it all up too perfectly. 

“Then it matters,” Wally said firmly. “Then it’s important. Mom used to tell me that whenever I’d get mad at something stupid, and then get mad at myself for getting mad, and… It’s hard to imagine that anything you might be going through could feel small to you when you’re also out there almost every night saving an entire city. I mean, geez…you’re The Flash. You have a right to be wrecked over a parking ticket if you want to.” He leaned into Barry’s shoulder and they shared a shaky laugh. “Though I’m guessing it’s probably a little bigger than that, huh?”

“A little bigger than a parking ticket, yeah.” Barry took another breath. He just had to keep taking breaths whenever the bad outweighed the good, whenever it pushed his happiness and easy smiles into the darkest corner of his mind and made them seem impossible to find again. “Wally…I’m sorry for the other night. For all of it. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t have a right to get so upset. I mean, dude, my brother is The Flash. That's crazy,” he smiled so wide again, so much like Joe. Barry could hardly believe Wally had just called him his _brother_. “But you know what’s funny? I was much more intimidated by Barry Allen.” 

“What?” Barry sat up straighter. “Why?”

“Because. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t escape living up to ‘perfect Barry’,” he said with a self-deprecating quirk to his smile. “Which had to have made it worse for you, I know, especially if things have been bad. But come on, man,” he brightened. “You’re the lead forensics specialist on all the importance cases in the city, and you’re only twenty-six. Of course you’re intimidating.”

Barry chuckled in disbelief. He’d always seen his accomplishments as more reasons why he was an outcast. The weird kid. The freak. “Not really the _lead_ …”

“Not in title,” Wally conceded, “but in what you do, how much responsibility the Captain gives you. Joe was telling me. You were an assistant before, and already you’re the guy they turn to. Barry Allen is just as cool as The Flash. I mean, sure, The Flash has superpowers, but Barry is just a guy, and he still made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

“Wally…”

“Look,” Wally met his gaze without any of the shadows Barry used to see there, “I know it’s not like that. I know neither of us has to live up to the other. You were raised by Joe for over half your life, right? Why does blood make me anymore his son than you? The opposite isn’t any truer. Isn’t there some saying about how real family is the one you choose?”

Barry smiled. “Something like that.” 

Joe had a speech somewhere about that too. And when Barry was thinking clearly, and could really wonder about the family he would have chosen for himself if he could, the only thing he’d change about the one he had now was that he’d never stop wishing his mother could be with him. 

But he still wouldn’t want to give up Joe and Iris. Or Wally. His dad. Cisco. Caitlin. Oliver and Felicity. He’d never had many friends growing up, and suddenly he had a village. A team. They were definitely the family he would have chosen, and even without his mom, Barry recognized how lucky he was that they were the family he had. 

And he needed to do everything he could to protect them.

“So,” Barry grinned, rocking into Wally’s shoulder. “Barry Allen is just as cool as The Flash, huh?”

Wally chuckled. “Well, maybe Flash is a little cooler. But I have this whole speed obsession in case you weren’t paying attention.” 

The smile stretched wider across Barry’s face—and felt real. “Is that your way of asking for another ride?”

“Maybe…” Wally rocked back into him.

Barry got so used to being The Flash as a job, he forgot sometimes how miraculous and exciting it was. “How about after dinner we go to the Labs? See the suit?” He stood and gestured toward his bedroom door. “I should warn you though, your clothes may start on fire, but I’ve gotten pretty good at putting people out when that happens.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wally bolted up after him. “Coz that would be amazing. Well…not starting on fire. Did someone actually start on fire?” 

Barry laughed again. “I’ll tell you all about it,” he said as he patted Wally’s shoulder. 

Rather than send another message to Snart, Barry shoved his phone into his pocket and led Wally downstairs for dinner. Once he had a plan, he’d go to Snart, and let the thief decide for himself if he was still willing to help take down Scudder after he learned the truth. 

The rest, Barry knew, he wouldn’t have much control over, but he could at least control how Snart found out. 

XXXXX

The Flash wasn’t easy to track. He moved too fast, especially when he was alone. Finding the right reflections to watch him through proved difficult. STAR Labs, where Sam had initially had a lot of luck, ended up being a bore-fest now, as Ramon and Snow took to messaging each other digitally rather than speaking out loud if anything important needed to be discussed. 

The Flash’s home was a bust as well. Sam could watch, listen in, but he learned nothing useful. He needed Flash broken and isolated. Needed to escalate things with Cold, before Flash had the chance to tell him the truth about their charade of an affair. That was the linchpin to Sam’s entire plan. 

Days went by and The Flash still hadn’t met up with Cold. He was stalling, hoping to stumble upon something with his tiny little fiber of evidence or from his team at STAR Labs to help bring Sam in. When nothing came of their researching and tests, Cold, on the other end of things, grew anxious. Messaged Flash more frequently. Became more desperate to see him. Which was good, but that meant Flash would cave soon, and if he had the chance to explain himself to Cold, it could ruin everything Sam had planted in the speedster so far. 

Finally, an opportunity presented itself. 

Sam had seen Sean Dunkirk around Cold’s neighborhood several times. Lately, he’d caught the man lurking about in some shoddy excuse for a disguise, but he wasn’t looking for his ex. No. He was waiting. Watching. And with his eyes peeled for Cold, when he spotted him, he followed. 

It was Friday now. Cold had ducked out of his apartment to hit the corner store. Now he headed home, and Dunkirk tailed him. He saw the building. Saw Cold enter. Grinned to himself maliciously, which made Sam grin too. All Dunkirk needed now was the apartment number. 

Sam wore his normal street clothes, and smoothly stepped out of a reflection behind Dunkirk in the alley he’d been hiding in. When the moment was right, Sam announced himself. 

“Need a hand, friend?”

Dunkirk whirled around, reaching inside his jacket to pull a gun, but Sam held up his hands to show that they were empty. 

“Relax. We both want the same thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Cold, six feet under.”

Slowly, Dunkirk removed his hand from his jacket. 

“I can give you his apartment number.” 

Dunkirk scowled from beneath the brim of the hat he’d pulled low to conceal his face. “Yeah? Whadda ya want for it?”

Sam grinned, and lowered his hands as well. “Absolutely nothing.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole chapter with them separated, ahhh! Well, they'll be together in the next one. I really enjoyed all of the interactions with Len and Barry with other people in this one. 
> 
> I am so excited for the coming chapter, you have no idea. Muwahahahaha!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scudder helps Dunkirk close in on Len, leaving him vulnerable moments before Barry is set to arrive to talk things out. Neither is prepared for what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again you are getting another chapter WAY sooner than should be possible, but I could not stop writing, and got to write pretty much all night last night, and wow, I love this chapter, and sincerely hope you all do too, so please let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> I never said the cliffhangers were ending any time soon. ;-)

Barry had never responded to Snart’s text Tuesday night. So he woke up Wednesday to another one. Simple at first. 

_At least let me know Scudder hasn’t snatched you up again. Would kinda put a damper on being the premier supervillain in this city if someone stole my nemesis._

Barry chuckled, and then ached for how caring Snart could be when he didn’t let his pride or bravado get in the way, however veiled by humor. _I’m fine. Just busy. Thinking. I’ll keep you posted._

But when Barry failed to update Snart again, because there wasn’t anything to update him on, another message came in. 

_If we leave the planning to you and your team, we’ll never catch Scudder. Let me help._

_Give me more time._

_Be faster if we did it together._

Barry groaned. He knew what Snart was doing, but he wasn’t ready to see him yet. Not yet. _Soon. I promise._

But by the end of the day, Barry was still stalling. The fiber seemed to be a dead end. There was something special about it, something unique, which should have made it easier to trace, but there was no one around Central City who would have had it, and no indication that Scudder had traveled before the Particle Accelerator, or any idea where he’d been since then. Barry had hoped the fiber would tell him something about the man’s whereabouts when not in the Mirror Maze, or something about where he’d been when he got his powers. But the fabric could have come from anywhere.

Captain Singh was no help either. Barry had Joe tell him on behalf of The Flash that Scudder could travel through reflections, that he’d fought Scudder at the museum— _he_ was the culprit. But Barry should have expected the Captain’s response.

“That’s all fine and dandy, Detective, but we can’t take the word of a vigilante over actual evidence. And right now we got no evidence pointing at Scudder other than one eye-witness who wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. Find me something else. We have enough to hold Scudder at least. Now find me the man himself.”

That’s what Barry was trying to do, but whether as Barry Allen or The Flash, he was no closer to any answers. Cisco and Caitlin could only do so much on speculation. They didn’t even know what Scudder’s meta ability was. The only option left was to team up with Snart. But what if that’s what Scudder wanted? What if that’s why he’d been lying low ever since the heist? 

_You’re safer without me around_ , Barry texted Snart when the man continued to push. 

_You can’t run scared from this guy, Scarlet._

But Barry was scared. He was terrified. Terrified of what he could lose. Of what he could become. 

Finally, on Thursday, it seemed like Snart had given up. Until a new set of text messages started to come in. _Could use a little help with these wounds, kid. Why not come over and ice ‘em for me?_

_Lip’s about healed now. Need to test out how much give it can handle. Wanna help?_

_Keep thinking about you in that parka. Care for a repeat without the underwear?_

_Said I’d use my tongue next time, remember? Well I’d start by…_

Barry could hardly hold down his blushing at work when the texts got dirtier the longer he avoided replying. And the worst part was, he wanted everything Snart described. He wanted to play the game back. Wanted to tell Snart how much he missed the feel of his tongue. The slide of his hips. His hands. God those hands, and their elegant fingers…

It was Friday now, Snart would not leave him alone, and Barry had exhausted all of his excuses. 

_Final offer, Scarlet. My place. Dinner. 1 hour._

Barry leaned back in his desk chair as he stared at his phone and considered his response. The feeling of eyes on the back of his neck made him shiver with goosebumps. He spun around—but nothing was there. Just his reflection in the window behind him. Barry stared at it, waiting for his eyes to flash red, for some sign that this reflection was more than what it seemed, but no matter how long he looked at it, if Scudder was watching him, he wasn’t playing his hand just yet. 

Barry returned to his phone. Try as he might, he couldn’t do this alone. 

XXXXX

_Final offer, Scarlet. My place. Dinner. 1 hour._

Len was through with being patient. It had been three days. _Three days_. He could have lasted longer without seeing Barry if the kid had actually responded to his texts with more than a handful of clipped words. Staying focused on Scudder with Len’s messages had only resulted in Barry saying he needed more time. Len had switched tactics to outright flirting yesterday, but the most that had garnered him was one hastily sent message in all caps. 

_OMG IN PRECINCT MEETING STOP!!!_

To be fair, Len had gotten a little overly detailed with his descriptions about what he’d like to do to Barry the next time he saw him. He wouldn’t have pushed like that, but at this point he feared it was the only way to get any kind of reaction out of Barry. If the kid was through with him then Len wanted him to look him in the eyes when he ended it. 

Len’s stomach roiled at the thought as he reached his apartment, carrying a bag of groceries in one arm while he finished texting Barry with his other hand. He’d nearly tripped up the stairs trying to juggle both. While he waited for Barry’s response, he switched out his phone for his keys and slipped into his apartment. 

He didn’t get nervous like this. Over some kid. A good lay. A fun time. 

A kind ear…

Barry was so much more than all of that, and a challenge to boot. Len had been so certain in that moment days ago when he discovered that Barry was disposing of evidence for him that they were on the same page. Not that he’d ever ask Barry to compromise himself like that—beyond their original deal. That was just good business. But it meant something that Len hadn’t asked, and Barry had still thought to protect him. 

But then Len’s messages had kept going unanswered, or answered with only choppy deflection. Len felt the end coming and couldn’t accept it. He _was_ nervous. And planning to make dinner to freaking _woo_ The Flash, leaving himself far too vulnerable to be teared down. 

Len’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he set the bag on the kitchen counter. 

_Okay. 1 hour._

Excitement and anxiety fluttered inside of Len like dueling combatants. Finally. He didn’t care if they didn’t have a plan for Scudder yet. He just needed to know where he and Barry stood. 

He wished he could shake the feeling of having absolutely no appetite when he was about to make dinner. His hands practically shook as he set his phone aside and took everything out of the bag, his throat dry and tight.

“Get a grip,” he growled at himself, clutching the edge of the kitchen island and taking in a long, slow breath. His bruises were fading little by little, his lip only sporting a slim cut now, perfectly accessible for whatever he and Barry might get up to later.

Len grinned. He missed the way Barry felt beneath his fingers, craved the kid like an addiction—the connection, the way Barry pushed away the loneliness Len found around every corner. Barry knew him, and didn’t care about the parts that were broken. Didn’t care that Len was a scoundrel and a thief. Believed Len could be more when no one else had ever…

Len pushed away from the counter and turned toward his liquor cabinet, debating taking a shot to ease his nerves. If Scudder was the only reason he and Barry couldn’t pick up where they left off, Len would ice the man himself, his deal with The Flash be damned. The sex, the quiet evenings in, the boisterous evenings out at odds but not really, never really, like they’d been before Scudder had to ruin their Monday night—Len wanted that, all of it. It wasn’t a fairytale ending, but it was a fitting one for nemeses. Better than he ever would have hoped for himself.

Why couldn’t they have that, if they both wanted it? If _Barry_ wanted it?

Len turned back to his groceries and finished emptying the bag. He scowled at the contents. Where was the bread? He’d taken it out first, hadn’t he, and set it next to the shiny surface of the toaster? But nothing was there, and the bag was empty. Len really was preoccupied with Barry if he could be so up in his head that he forgot what he’d bought. He checked the receipt; it mentioned the bread. Had he left it at the store?

Fuck it. Len needed the distraction, and he didn’t need the full hour to make dinner. He glanced over the counter for anything he was forgetting, threw the necessary items in the refrigerator, and headed back out for Mrs. Pak’s corner store to get another loaf. 

As he left, he failed to notice that he didn’t have his phone.

XXXXX

Sam smirked as he scrolled through Cold’s string of text messages to The Flash. Much simpler than trying to steal glimpses over Flash’s shoulder. Snagging the phone from the counter through the toaster’s reflection had been too easy. As well the bread, ensuring that Snart left his apartment again so Dunkirk could sneak inside. 

_Make it half an hour_ , Sam texted Flash.

_You’re pushing it, Len._

_You like when I push._

_So you think. I’ll be there._

Too easy indeed. Sam deleted the extra text messages then reached through the reflection to replace the phone and set it in plain sight where Cold would think he’d simply forgotten it. How quickly three days and a false sense of security made them complacent to the reflections around them.

Sam watched, moving from mirror to mirror that looked in on Cold’s apartment. A few minutes after Cold left, there was a jostling at the door. At least Dunkirk hadn’t lied about being good at picking locks. He entered without trouble, closed the door behind him, and locked it again. He made sure the rug wasn’t disturbed as he crossed it just as Sam had instructed.

Dunkirk’s sneer as he looked around the apartment betrayed his hatred of Cold. Good. He’d be effective, if sloppy. Just what Sam needed. Of course Dunkirk had no idea that Sam was watching. Sam didn’t need a true accomplice, only a pawn. He’d said that he was an acquaintance of Cold’s that had gotten a raw deal and wanted vengeance. He even knew how to get into Cold’s secret room where the man stashed his gear. 

Dunkirk headed there quickly, pressing the point on the wall that Sam had told him about. Pity Cold had his gun on him, but Sam hadn’t told Dunkirk about the room to suit up or find any treasures. Dunkirk slipped inside, and let the door close behind him, hiding him from view. The man could follow directions. Now to see if he followed the rest Sam had told him.

“So you _do_ want something,” Dunkirk had scowled at Sam in the alley.

“No. Just some requests. To help you. Wait until you hear Cold cross the room. And no guns. You’ll never get out of the neighborhood alive if someone hears shots.”

“That I was planning on anyway. Asshole thinks he can keep my family from me? I’m gonna split him open end to end.” Dunkirk had opened his coat to reveal a large bowie knife. 

Perfect.

“Happy hunting.”

Sure, it was a gamble. All of it was. But if things went Sam’s way, the long game would be worth it.

XXXXX

Len arrived back at his apartment fifteen minutes after he’d left, leaving him more than enough time to get dinner started to distract him from his nerves. He glanced at the kitchen counter as he entered. There was his cell phone just as he’d suspected. Barry was making him careless. 

He tossed the new loaf of bread onto the counter and frowned as he looked around his apartment. Something felt…off. He glanced back at the rug. Perfectly in place. No lights were on. The door had been locked. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. But Len couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

Slowly, he glanced around at the many items in his apartment with reflective surfaces. He’d uncovered them all from Barry’s careful work days ago. He couldn’t live like that. If Scudder was watching him, so be it. The meta had more than enough ammunition against Len; he couldn’t learn anything else of use that would be more incriminating than what he already knew. But there was always that feeling, that sense of being watched, being spied on. 

Len shrugged it off. Maybe the feeling was warranted. Maybe he only felt it because Barry was on his way. Regardless, Len wouldn’t be deterred. He didn’t give in to fear for anyone. 

He hung up his coat, set his cold gun aside from its holster, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work making dinner. 

XXXXX

Barry had flashed to the edge of Len’s neighborhood, but decided to walk like a normal person the last few blocks. He needed time to think. Plus it was a little early still. He wondered why Snart had insisted on half an hour instead of an hour, but maybe it was just to test whether or not Barry would comply. Snart was eager to see him. Desperate to see him, judging by his texts. 

Barry should not feel guilty about wanting to come clean. Guilty about having something to come clean about, yes, but he had to break the illusion Snart was under. Barry was not the stalwart hero he appeared to be. That he pretended to be.

“Ah, Lenny make dinner for you, yes?” a familiar accented voice disrupted Barry’s thoughts. It was Mrs. Pak wiping down one of the tables outside her corner store’s café.

“Hi! Uhh…what did you say?” Barry stammered, trying to focus.

The tiny Korean woman shook her head at him, and moved her hands to her hips. “You tell Lenny he wrong. He already buy bread. Must have lost first loaf. Not misplaced here.”

“Um, okay.” Barry wasn’t quite sure he understood, but he nodded anyway.

She sighed as though he was absolutely hopeless, which of course was entirely true as far as Barry was concerned. She stomped forward and pushed him down the sidewalk. “He rush off to cook for _you_. Go, go! Need meat on your bones, skinny boy!” She patted his side without an ounce of bashfulness. 

The general flush of embarrassment Barry felt was overshadowed by what she’d said about dinner. Snart wasn’t just ordering in, he was actually cooking for him again. Snart thought this was a date. He was treating it like a date. And Barry was going to rip his heart out—just like he’d always planned. 

Barry felt like he might throw up. 

He headed off away from the corner without even acknowledging Mrs. Pak again, which was rude enough, but then he was in a daze as he covered the remaining blocks toward Snart’s apartment. He almost ran right into the young girl from the bakery. 

“Oh, hey! Barry, right?” She smiled at him, looking as though she’d just closed up shop for the night with a box of leftover donuts in her hands.

“Right.” Barry blinked at her. “Yeah. Umm…”

“Janey.”

“Janey! Of course. I was just…”

“Going to see Mr. Snart, right? Good.” She gave a sigh of relief. “Do you know what happened to his face? I’ve been so worried.”

If Barry’s stomach could plummet any lower, it would have sunk to the pavement. “Yeah…it was, uhh…work related.”

She smiled appeasingly at him. “I figured as much. Do you want to take these?” She held out the box of donuts. “You can share them. They’ll just go to waste if I take them home. Usually I take them to the shelter a few blocks down, but I don’t have time tonight.”

Even the people in this neighborhood were remarkable; no wonder Snart wanted to protect them. Barry felt it impolite to refuse her. “Of course. I’m sure Len will both hate and appreciate the offer.” He accepted the box with a strained smile.

Janey giggled. “I know, I know. He says we offer too much, but before him, we had break-ins and people trying to hold us up almost every week. This is a nice neighborhood again because of Mr. Snart. I’m glad he has someone like you to look after him. He’s seemed so preoccupied and sad this week.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled wider, which made Barry feel like the dirt beneath his shoes.

“Yeah…there’s just been some, uhh…it’s just that lately…”

“It’s okay, Barry, I’m not trying to pry. Have a nice night now! And say hello to Mr. Snart for me.” She waved brightly as she headed off down the street.

Barry turned to call out, “I will!” After he gave Snart the donuts. And gave him Mrs. Pak’s message. And told Snart that he’d been using him all this time just to watch him squirm.

Urg… 

Barry trudged forward, box of donuts securely in hand. His feet faltered when he first entered the apartment building, each new step up the staircase feeling like slogging through quicksand. He wasn’t paying attention to anything in his path, especially since he had a large pink box obscuring his view, so he didn’t see the small figure that ran out of the apartment to his right. 

“Hey!” Barry called, when something collided with his side. The donuts flew up a couple of inches, but thankfully landed safely back in his arms. “What the…?” He clutched the box closer to his chest as he looked down around his feet. 

A young boy—the same young boy who had nearly run into Barry rushing down the stairs all those weeks back—stood rubbing his shoulder where it had collided with Barry’s hip. His big blue eyes looked up at Barry shyly, in stark contrast to his mocha skin, and as Barry looked down at him, he noticed a doll clutched in the boy’s hand. 

A Captain Cold action figure. 

XXXXX

The apartment was filled with the smells of cooking garlic, onions, and ground turkey. Len rarely made this particular dish. It served at least four people, and usually it was just him eating alone, or just him and Lisa. But Barry could eat enough to avoid leftovers with a second and third helping easy. 

The sweet potatoes were in the oven, green onions cut, cheese grated. Once the meat was finished cooking, Len would add the mushrooms, well on his way to completion. But as he stirred in the cream to thicken the cream of mushroom soup, he felt that same prickling in his periphery as though someone was right behind him. 

He turned. Nothing. No one. There was no reason for Len to feel this way, aside from the usual feeling of reflections carrying demons in their depths this week. Maybe he’d check his surveillance just to be certain. His instincts were never wrong, and he couldn’t shake the sensation that something wasn’t right. 

After setting the burners on low, in case he got distracted checking the footage, Len crossed the room to his computer desk. He pulled up the program from Hartley, and searched the video footage for just after he left the apartment. As he did, that feeling that he wasn’t alone only grew stronger, insistent and infuriating. Until he heard a creak of the floor. 

Len dove to the right out of his desk chair, landing with a wince as his shoulder jammed downward, but avoiding the lunge from Dunkirk as the man crashed into his computer desk. 

XXXXX

“Hey,” Barry said, crouching down to be eye level with the boy, and setting the box of donuts on the floor. He could see around the kid into his apartment, door left open, a TV on, the clear outline of a woman asleep on the sofa—his mother. “I don’t think your mom would be too happy about you going out to play while she’s napping. Wouldn’t she worry?”

The boy clutched his Captain Cold figure in both hands and stared at his feet. “Not s’posed to talk to strangers.”

Barry smiled. “Good, that’s…a good rule. But I’m actually a friend of…well… _his_.” Barry pointed to the action figure. The kid obviously knew who lived in his building. “I’m on my way to see him. My name’s Barry. Do you like playing villain?”

“He’s not a villain!” The boy’s eyes snapped up with a fire in their depths. “He helps people!”

“Oh yeah?” Of course Barry knew that now, but he wondered just what insight this boy of no more than ten years old might have. “Have you seen him help people?”

“Yeah,” he said indignantly, a pout playing at his lips as he glared at Barry distrustfully. “He helps my mom with the groceries sometimes. If they’re too heavy. And…and he chases off bad people from the neighborhood. And he…he saved us from my dad one time.”

The smile dropped from Barry’s face. “Why did he need to do that?”

“Coz. My dad’s not very nice. He’d hurt my mom. And when she started getting big with my sister, she said he had to stop, or he’d hurt the baby. So he started to hurt me instead.”

Barry’s instincts were to clench his fists in anger at the thought of any father treating his family that way. 

“But Mom said that was enough. So we ran away. We came here, and stayed at the shelter. But Dad followed us, and…” He trailed, his eyes widening as though he finally realized just how much he was divulging to a stranger. “Are you really Mr. Cold’s friend?”

 _Mr. Cold_. It was easy to let a little of Barry’s smile back in, for the boy’s sake. “I promise. Janey, from the bakery? She gave me these leftover donuts to give him.” He tapped the top of the pink box on the floor. “We’ve known each other a long time now, me and…Mr. Cold. Tell me. What happened when your dad followed you to the shelter?”

XXXXX

Len rolled away from the chair and sprang to his feet before Dunkirk had time to recover. He would have been faster any other week, but his reflexes were slowed from the injuries still healing after Scudder. 

Dunkirk pulled back from where he’d smashed into the computer, knocking it sideways on the desk. He wore dull colors, a trenchcoat, and a cap pulled tight over his head, likely a disguise to hide and watch Len—watch the neighborhood, looking for Carla. Len’s stomach twisted as he wondered when he’d last checked on her. Had Dunkirk gotten to her first? Were she and Michael safe?

Then Len’s eyes trained on the large knife in Dunkirk’s hand. 

His instincts were to go to for his cold gun, but—shit. It was on the kitchen counter, a tease for Barry. He would have turned the cold field on if Barry tried to dodge his questions too much or run away. Now Len stood defenseless against a crazed man with a blade. Not that Len was ever truly defenseless even when injured. 

He kept Dunkirk in his sights, and started a slow backpedal to get as close to the kitchen island and his gun as he could before Dunkirk made his next move. When Dunkirk charged, instead of fleeing, diving aside, or standing there to take the blow, Len charged back at him, surprising the other man and ramming his shoulder into Dunkirk’s chest, then pulling his knee up into Dunkirk’s stomach, narrowly missing the first harried swing of the knife. 

Dunkirk stumbled, but squared his footing, a skilled hand to hand fighter who knew how to brawl with the best of them, and surged forward again with a mad push at Len. Despite the way he hunched from the blow to his stomach, he slashed out with the knife again. 

Len turned only fast enough to take the brunt of the swipe with his arm, the knife cutting deep into his tricep. He cringed from the pain, but didn’t pause. Backing up again, swift as he could, he watched Dunkirk for every tell he could decipher, debating the options available to him—charge again, risk going for his gun, or wait. He had seconds to decide. 

“Not one of those freaks after all, are ya?” Dunkirk sneered at him. 

Charge it is. 

XXXXX

Barry could hardly believe the story the young boy—Michael—had told him. And yet of course he could. A tale of violence and sadness and terrible circumstance that had befallen a poor woman and her child—and then her unborn child. All because one man thought himself in the right to beat them whenever he was angry, or unhappy, or just _felt like it_. 

Of course Snart had showed up when a disturbance was reported at the abuse shelter in his neighborhood. Of course he’d come in guns blazing, with Heat Wave at his side. Of course he’d nearly frozen Sean Dunkirk on the spot. Now Barry knew why Snart had been so adamant about that name—Dunkirk. He was worried the man would come after this poor boy and his mother again. When they’d needed someone, anyone to have their backs, he’d intervened, pushed Dunkirk out, threatened him, and helped the woman and her son find a new home where they were safe. 

Snart wasn’t anything like what Barry had originally thought. He’d known that for a long time now, but this—this story was too much, because it wasn’t just about this little boy and his family. It was about the little boy Barry had seen that night when Snart killed his father. The little boy in a man’s drawn face, in his tear-filled eyes and the shaking hands that gave up the cold gun without a fight. 

Barry had to tell Len the truth if only for the how much he’d added to that little boy’s burdens. 

“Thank you, Michael. You better get back inside so your mom doesn’t worry when she wakes up, okay? What if someone bad was out here? What if someone good, like Cold, wasn’t around to save you? Good guys try their hardest, but they can’t be everywhere all the time. So you have to be smart, and help them out by protecting the ones you care about on your own. You watch over your mom while she sleeps. She’s gonna need your help when the baby comes, right?”

Michael looked down at his feet again. “Yeah…I know.”

“Tell ya what. Normally I’d agree with your mom that you shouldn’t talk to strangers, and you definitely shouldn’t take anything from them. But I’m guessing you could get better use out of these donuts than me or Cold, huh?” He patted the top of the donut box again. Michael’s eyes lit up considerably. “But you can only have one before your mom wakes up. Deal?” Barry pushed the box across the floor. 

Michael grinned, nodded, and reached down for the box. He looked dwarfed by the size of it when he hefted it up, his Captain Cold figure barely clutched in one hand as he tried to handle both. “Thanks, Mr…”

“Barry.”

“Mr. Barry.”

“No, it’s—” But by the time Barry thought to correct him, Michael had already ducked into his apartment, and kicked the door shut behind him. He’d probably eat more than just one donut before his mom woke up, but Barry figured it wasn’t the worst disaster ever. 

He had to talk to Len. No more stalling. 

Leaving Michael behind, Barry climbed the last set of steps to Snart’s floor. Steeling his nerves, he raised his hand to knock…only to hear a sudden oomph from inside. 

“Len?” Barry called.

XXXXX

 _Barry_. He was early. 

Thank god. 

Len had Dunkirk around the middle, but he still had to worry about the knife swiping at him with earnest hatred. He rammed Dunkirk all the way back across the room into the wall beside the desk, and gripped the wrist of the hand holding the knife, squeezing as hard as he could to keep it from driving down into his shoulder or chest. 

He couldn’t call out for ‘Barry’, so he simple shouted, “Help!” as he lost his grip with his other hand, and Dunkirk swung at him with a left hook—not his dominant, but still brutal as Len’s eye exploded in pain—causing stars to form in his vision and for his hold on Dunkirk’s knife hand to falter. Len felt the room tilt as he was pushed back, saw the blade rushing toward him, and wasn’t fast enough to react. 

But Barry was. Barry was there in seconds, whether the door had been thrown open or he merely phased through it, and had Dunkirk in a tight hold. The knife clattered to the floor, the Irishman spun around and held from behind so he couldn’t see Barry’s face. Barry’s voice shook with vibrations as he spoke. 

“Breaking and entering, assault, attempted murder. Snart might not be able to press charges, but I remember a long list of priors for you, Mr. Dunkirk. Let’s see how happy CCPD is to see you.”

Barry glanced over his shoulder for the briefest moment, just long enough to meet Len’s gaze, to see that he was okay, to make that moment linger and stretch on for ages because it was the first time Len had seen Barry in _three fucking days_. And then he was gone. 

Len sucked in air as he fell to his knees in relief. He looked back at the door, was fairly certain it was still closed, though he couldn’t really see it. His vision tunneled as his adrenaline came down and the brunt of everything that had just happened struck him. 

Not in his home. Not in his _home_. 

Len took in another shuddery breath. He was okay. He’d known something was wrong, and he was right. In the moment, he’d been able to defend himself, to fight, but he hadn’t been at his best, not nearly good enough with his ribs still twinging and his headache a dull reminder of his recent concussion. Now Dunkirk’s punch made him feel like the bone around his left eye was on fire. And his arm—shit. 

Len reached to press his hand to his right tricep, the sleeve of his navy sweater slashed, ruined. The cut felt deep, but the bleeding wasn’t bad. Still, it could have been worse, so much worse. Len had gotten so sloppy the past few days that he’d let Dunkirk ambush him in his own home. He was torn between wanting to scream, and just wishing Barry would get back already. 

“Len!”

Then there he was, like lightning crackling through thunderclouds. He crouched beside Len on the floor, and urged him to stand, helping him to the sofa. Len barely registered any of it until they were sitting. Barry pried Len’s hand away from the cut to get a look at it; the hissing noise he made wasn’t encouraging. 

“Dinner…” Len huffed. 

“It doesn’t matter, we can—”

“Turn off the burners, kid.”

“Oh.” 

Barry was gone and back so fast, Len almost didn’t realize he’d listened to him. Then a warm hand brushed gently along Len’s eye, and parted the cut in Len’s sweater to look at the gash again. 

“I’ll get the first aid kit. Are you okay?” Barry looked at him with downturned eyes and a tightness to his lips that made Len want to kiss away the strain. 

“Carla! Michael!” Len tried to stand as he remembered. “If Dunkirk was here—”

“They’re fine,” Barry held him in place. “I saw them. I don’t think he knows they live downstairs.”

“That thing you do with your voice…” Len’s mind was spinning a mile a minute. “You zipped him away. He knows The Flash knows where I live.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Where is he?”

“At the precinct. He’ll have a tough time getting back on the streets—”

“His father will get him off.”

“ _Len_. Let me worry about all that. Are you okay?” Barry asked more insistently. 

Len gripped the hand resting just below the cut on his arm. He’d lost himself in the chaos of it all, but he was fine. He had to be fine. This was nothing like the other night. So he relaxed, and enjoyed the feeling of Barry’s touch. And those eyes… “I’m okay. Get the kit.”

Maybe it was Len’s imagination, but it seemed as though Barry flushed with color when their eyes met, gazes lingering just a little too long, as Len’s thumb brushed Barry’s fingers…and then Barry was gone again. 

Len breathed in the scent of garlic in the air, the cooking sweet potatoes not quite done, but still filling the room with their scent since Barry had taken them out and turned off the oven. How he could do so much in moments always amazed Len. 

By the time Len shifted and let himself sink back into the sofa, Barry was back. He got a steak out of the fridge for Len’s eye, an actual steak, which made Len chuckle even as he held it up against the quickly forming bruise, and Barry inspected the cut on his other arm. 

“Needs stiches. I can do it. So fast you’ll barely notice. But you’ll still want something for the pain.”

“Already do, Scarlet.” 

Barry nodded stiffly and disappeared again, only to blink back into existence with Len’s bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. Len downed the pills. Slowly, Barry helped him remove his shirt to better get at the wound. 

While Len sat there with a steak at his eye, Barry gently cleaned the cut, disinfected it, and then at Flash speed, stitched Len up. Len hissed in the aftermath as his body caught up to what had just been done to him, but Barry’s gentle touch returned as he put a bandage over the wound and smoothed the edges with tender fingers. 

Here Barry was again, patching Len up after a fight. 

“Déjà vu,” Len said, as he set the steak aside and reached up to grip the wrist of the hand tending to him. 

They were so close on the sofa, Len resting back on the cushions, Barry with one leg up to get closer to him, their hands connected, Len’s shirt tossed to the floor, as their eyes met mere inches apart. 

“Not the kind of déjà vu I want,” Barry whispered, as if afraid to speak too loudly when the rest of the room was quiet. 

Barry let Len hold his hand in place on his arm, while his other hand strayed, drifting down to Len’s hip and resting at the edge of one of his larger scars. When Barry felt it beneath his fingers, he seemed to snap to his senses as if he’d been in a trance. 

“Sorry,” he said, and pulled both hands away. 

But Len reached for them, hung onto them, and brought Barry’s hands back to his skin, the one back to his hip. “It’s okay. Broken bottle one night when Dad got drunk. Now I get to add another knife wound to the collection.” Len smirked as he nodded at his bandaged arm. 

Barry smiled with him, but it was a sad, shattered expression. He teased the tips of his fingers over the scar tissue. “Are all these really from…” His gaze drifted, but then he startled again, snapping to attention as if he’d said something he shouldn’t. 

Len wouldn’t let him pull away, not this time. “My father?” he said, softly, openly; he had to be open tonight, so Barry would know it was okay. “No. Not all. Most though. Some from prison. Dumb mistakes. Fights like tonight. But most…yeah, they’re his.” 

He took Barry’s hand still resting on his hip, and drew it upwards, guiding it across his bare chest until he reached his shoulder and the faint circular scar tissue next to the line across his clavicle. 

“Burn. From a cigar. Because I broke my leg when I was eight, and I cried. So he wanted to teach me a lesson. Teach me how to keep pain in and never let anyone see it.”

Barry’s brow furrowed with indignant anger, his mouth falling open in a horrified gape. 

Len trailed Barry’s hand lower to a particularly bad scar across his stomach—his worst, and the one he remembered the clearest. “First knife wound. Nothing to do with thieving. Caught me with a boy in my room. Would have killed him, if I hadn’t stood in the way. I took the brunt of it. Let him run off. Never brought a boy home again, even when Dad was safely in the clink. Not til I moved out. Brought a few girls home,” he shrugged. 

“Girls?” Barry asked with a touch of humored skepticism bleeding through his concern. He splayed his hand flat against Len’s stomach, feeling warm and intimate in his touch. 

Len smirked. “Occasionally. Not as often.”

Barry nodded, but his smile quickly faded, his eyes trained on the scar and the affectionate way he traced it with his fingers. “Sometimes…I think my dad hates me, because he left as soon as he got out, and…and I know that’s so stupid, can’t even remotely compare to you—”

“Barry,” Len cut him off. “My father didn’t hate me. Didn’t think he did. That was the worst part. In his mind, he was doing me a favor. Teaching me lessons.” Len took a breath, and watched the way Barry’s hand moved with the motion. “The hardest hits, stitches, broken bones, none of it compared to him still acting like he loved us when it was over. Your father just needed space, and time. Not to get away from you, but to get away from everything. Almost twenty years put away, Barry.” Len couldn’t imagine. He’d never been in for long. 

Barry snuggled closer to Len on the sofa and rested his head on Len’s shoulder. “He said…he didn’t want to get in my way. Didn’t want to burden me when I already had a life, a family.” 

“Then he was being honest. About how he felt, and what he thought you needed. Didn’t sugar coat it, didn’t lie. Doing the hard thing when it hurts more than benefits you, that’s how a parent should be. Doing the easy thing for yourself and calling it love…that’s lower even than loathing.” Len didn’t try to hide his own loathing for a father that was no longer there. Even if the man was dead and buried now, the emotions he held for him festered in his gut. “Makes it hard to enjoy the simple things. Holidays. Birthdays.” 

“I don’t like my birthday either,” Barry muttered.

“Because it’s the day after your mother died,” Len said—he didn’t ask. He didn’t need to ask. 

Barry tilted his head up at him.

“I do my research, remember? If not for that, I imagine you’d be the insufferable princess type on your birthday.” 

Barry sputtered a laugh. “Princess type?”

“Oh yes. All me, me, me. Everything your way. Trust me, I have some experience with that.” 

“Lisa? Or just talking about yourself?” Barry grinned. And Len laughed. And Barry laughed. And it should have been a nice moment to break the tension, but then Barry’s laughter faded into something more like sobs, and Len saw the tears forming. 

“I’m sorry,” Barry said, as he wiped at them furiously. 

“Hey…” Len held Barry’s hand still resting against his stomach, and reached up with the other for Barry’s face. He brushed away the few tears that had managed to form with a gentle swipe. “It’s okay,” he said, soft as a whisper, leaning in closer to feel Barry’s breath on his lips. “It’s okay…if you’re not okay.”

Barry sucked in a breath and shuddered. He fell forward until their foreheads touched, and the soft press of their lips was an easy conclusion. Neither of them hurried, even though three days had felt like three weeks, and Len had missed this kid like he’d lost a limb. 

Just their lips—moving, whispering against each other. Hands touching as they pressed to Len’s stomach. Len’s palm on Barry’s cheek… 

It was everything. It was different. It was weightier, Len could feel it. Until now, all he had ever done to get what he wanted was lie. Tonight he wanted to tell the truth, and give Barry everything he deserved. 

XXXXX

Cold hadn’t bothered to draw his curtains. The slits for windows didn’t allow much of a view into the apartment, but Sam wasn’t sneaking a peek from outside. He saw everything through the reflection he’d chosen within the safety of his Mirror Maze. 

Dunkirk had worked out beautifully. 

Sam grinned as he sat back to watch the show. He wasn’t much of a voyeur, usually made scarce if he caught them this far along, but tonight he had to be sure that everything played out according to plan. 

So far the cards were in his favor. 

XXXXX

Snart’s tongue teased Barry’s lips and pushed inside with a subtle request, then delved in deep once he had permission like he was starved for a taste. Dunkirk, and Scudder, and _everything_ was just too much. When could they catch a break? When did they get to be happy? Happiness was here, touching Len, kissing him, keeping him safe. 

But Barry was awful for wanting that when it had all been built on a lie. 

“Wait…” he gasped away, pulling from the kiss and trying to pull his hands back with him. 

Snart clung to him. Pleaded with his grip without hanging on too tight that Barry not let him go. “Barry…”

“It’s too much…it’s _too much_ …”

“I know.” He didn’t say it dismissively; he understood, he _did_ know. And when Barry looked up into those bright, beautiful eyes, he was lost and couldn’t find the strength to pull away again. “Do you want to leave?” Snart asked him, almost too quiet to be heard. 

Barry nearly sobbed the word, “ _No._ ” 

“Then _don’t._ ” Snart stroked his face…and smiled.

They moved to reconnect at the same time like an exhale. Lips crashed together, Snart’s thumb hooking around Barry’s jaw, as Barry’s hand slid from Snart’s stomach to loop around his waist and hold him close, careful to leave his injured arm out of the fray. Snart’s lips, and tongue, and _skin_ —God, Barry had missed it. He almost tipped the man back into the cushions. 

They should slow down. And think. Barry had so much to say. 

“Barry…” Snart breathed against his lips. 

They were practically on top of each other as Snart reached between Barry’s legs and felt the steadily growing hardness there. Barry rocked up into his touch. It was as if all of the adrenaline from before had fueled into want, and nothing but each other could quench it. 

“Take me apart again, kid,” Snart begged him— _begged_. “Please.” 

Barry had never wanted anything more. 

He dove forward and kissed Snart deeper, hands fumbling with the clasp of the man’s jeans, then undoing the clasp of his own slacks, trying to figure out some way to do it all _faster_ without going too fast for Snart or risk hurting him when he was still beaten. 

Barry’s hand came down on the couch cushion into something oddly squishy, and he pulled back with a grimace. The steak. 

“Upstairs,” Snart said with a chuckle, as he tossed the steak onto the coffee table. “Get us upstairs.” 

“Okay…”

“And take your shoes off first.”

Barry laughed. He’d completely forgotten he still had his shoes on. But of course Snart had noticed. Of course he had to comment. Barry looked Snart in the eyes and had never wanted him more. 

He flashed them up to the bedroom—after leaving his shoes at the door—and laid Snart out on the bed. The bruises that had faded had been replaced by a new one budding around his eye, but his cuts were lighter now, even the one on his lip, and his arm was bandaged safely. Barry could be gentle. Barry could take such good care of him. He wanted to make it better for Snart than it had ever been before. 

Barry whirlwinded himself out of his clothes, then returned to run both hands up Snart’s stomach before dragging them down again, and bringing Snart’s jeans down with him. Snart was hard already too just from the promise of this. And he was so beautiful. The scars didn’t diminish that; they never could. 

Barry barely paused for breath, using his speed to claim supplies from the nightstand and set them nearby on the bed, then returning to kiss Snart as he settled between his legs and parted them, lifted them, bent them at the knee and reached down. He never stopped kissing Snart, desperate lapping of their tongues, as he brought two lube-coated fingers down and teased Snart’s entrance. 

He didn’t rush, much as their pace insisted that they wanted to. He took his time twirling the slick pads of his fingers, barely pushing inside of Snart more than the barest breach. His free hand ran down Snart’s thigh, squeezed his ass, then moved back up…where it found the scar at his hip. Barry touched it with all the reverence it deserved, and pressed the first finger in past the knuckle as it trembled with vibrations. 

Snart snapped his head aside to moan, “ _Fuck_...I missed you.”

Barry smiled with genuine joy as he nudged his nose along Snart’s jaw. “Me too, Len…me too…”

Each twist of his finger inside of Snart was accompanied by a graze of his other hand across a scar. The one on Snart's stomach. His clavicle. His shoulder. A gentle barely-there pass over the bandage on his arm. Snart shivered, and opened up eagerly when Barry pushed a second finger inside. 

Snart’s legs encircled Barry as he knelt there, working him open, teasing his scars, kissing his neck. It was when Snart’s moans faded into soft, pleading whimpers that Barry looked into the other man’s eyes. 

Barry rolled the condom on without breaking the connection of their gazes. When he was ready, and he pressed to the slick, puckered skin, he held Snart at his hip and the side of his face, and kissed him. Each new inch inside was punctuated by a flick of Barry’s tongue—along Snart’s lips, passed his teeth, plunged in deep. Snart whined through it all, shivering as Barry sheathed himself slowly. 

Barry drifted his hand down from Snart’s hip to beneath his knee and lifted it higher, pivoting into the angle and pressing in deeper, before he pulled out and rocked in again. Snart tried to keep their lips and tongues connected, but with each slow, rhythmic thrust, the noises leaving him increased, until he had to press his cheek to Barry’s so he could let the vocals leave him unhindered. 

Snart’s voice _wrecked_ was like nothing Barry had ever thought he’d crave. As they rocked, and Barry mouthed light kisses along Snart’s cheek and ear, his free hand danced lazy circles over Snart’s skin. When he trailed down Snart’s arm past the bandage again, Snart lifted his hand to grip Barry tight, lacing their fingers together. 

Every part of them was connected. Their hands, and thighs, and lips against each other’s skin. It was deep. And slow. And so much more than any time before it. Barry didn’t even mean to start to vibrate further, the tremors merely took control of him as he picked up the pace and felt the end nearing. 

Snart’s moans had fallen to litanies of Barry’s name, and “Yes,” and, “Scarlet,” and, “Please,” that spurred Barry on until he blurred with speed and felt tears in his eyes as he came. 

Barry paused for breath only to feel a warm wetness between their stomachs as Snart released as well. Somehow they’d found their way to the end together. 

They panted as they looked at each other in the stillness, until the only thing left that made sense was to kiss again. Slow. Lazy. And filled with all the emotion hanging between them. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Barry breathed. 

Snart huffed a laugh. “Enough with the martyr complex, kid. There is so much about you worth wanting. While I’m just a—”

“What? An old thief?” Barry smiled as he pulled back just enough to slip out of Snart, and rolled the condom off to toss it away. “That’s one of the best things about you.”

“Best things about me?” Snart raised an eyebrow as their pulses slowed, and Barry settled back in between his legs, despite the mess between them. “That I’m old and of questionable morals?”

“No,” Barry laughed. “That you know who you are and what you want. I love that about you. Your confidence. Your intelligence. Your puns.” He trailed his hand down beneath Snart’s leg again. “Love your thighs.” Trailed it lower. “And your ass.” Back up beneath his knee, to his hip, making Snart’s breath hitch. “Love your skin. Love your _scars_.” And dove down for a kiss.

“I love _you_ , Barry.”

Then stopped. “…what?”

Barry pulled up, expression blank and disbelieving as he took Snart in, this flushed and beautiful and impossible man beneath him that Barry had thought he hated so much he wanted to ruin him forever. Now those hypnotic blue eyes looked at him without any guile or lies or selfishness. Snart’s forehead smoothed in resignation of what he’d said, what he meant, looking ten years younger as he held Barry’s gaze and said it again. 

“I love you.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the shit didn't hit the fan...yet. ;-)
> 
> Sam didn't want Dunkirk to kill Len, and if it had gotten too close, he could have assisted through the reflection of the blade, just FYI. He's been watching them for weeks, so he knows what he's doing and has a fairly good plan to steer things where he wants. 
> 
> More soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scudder molds events just enough to ensure that everything Len and Barry built collapses around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins...

Len felt so exposed, like a raw nerve. He’d never told anyone he’d been with that he loved them, was never with anyone long enough _to_ love them. But Barry was everything Len wasn’t; he’d need to hear it. He deserved to hear it. So Len had said it. The words spilled from his lips so easily after Barry counted off Len’s supposed virtues, both metaphorical and physical. 

“I love you, Barry.”

Len didn’t expect to hear the same words back, so he didn’t wait for Barry to say anything. He leaned up to capture another kiss.

Barry pulled out of reach. He’d drained of all color, eyes wide and shimmering, as he shook his head. “I…I can’t.”

“What?” Len reached for Barry’s face. 

“I _can’t_.” Barry pulled back completely and scrambled off the bed, off of Len like he couldn’t get away fast enough. “I have to go.”

“Go?” The dull edge of rejection felt as if Dunkirk’s knife had lodged itself in Len’s chest. He pushed up onto his arms, twisting his mouth into a strained smirk. “Suddenly in such a hurry, Scarlet?”

Barry sped into his clothes, dressed in seconds, standing there unable to look Len in the eyes. He backed up toward the stairs, and only for a brief moment before he disappeared did his hazel eyes meet Len’s. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then he was gone. 

He left. Len said ‘I love you’. And Barry _left_. 

Len was still stained with his own release on his stomach, naked on his bed. If ever he’d felt used and thrown away, this moment trumped the rest. He’d known what a risk he was taking, but he’d thought…he’d just _thought_ …

Len stumbled out of bed and raced for the bathroom, gripping the cool porcelain of the sink when he reached it. He felt dizzy, nauseous. He needed to get clean. Needed to get out of the house. Needed to…something. He couldn’t just stand there. He’d risked everything offering himself to Barry…and lost.

Len’s fingers remained knuckle-white on the sides of the sink. When he’d finally calmed enough to look up, he saw in the mirror how quickly the bruise around his eye was forming. Saw the bandage over his arm that Barry had so carefully applied. What had Len been thinking, imagining that longing and kindness meant Barry could love him? 

Len rinsed off in the shower and dressed in fresh clothes in a numb daze. When he headed down the stairs, every creak and shift of his apartment made him equally anticipate another attack or hope beyond hope that Barry had returned, but neither of those things happened. 

Gathering up everything that had been left out when he started dinner, Len contemplated putting it away in the fridge, but eventually just threw it all in the trash. He grabbed his cold gun off the counter, retrieved his trenchcoat from the closet, and left the apartment. 

He didn’t want to walk. He didn’t want to see anyone. But he couldn’t stay in the house. He needed neutral ground, somewhere he could go to think without distraction—a safehouse. He picked the nearest one, the closet one he could walk to, and barreled down the sidewalk causing the few pedestrians he passed to make way or cross to the other side of the street. If they were anyone he knew, he didn’t notice. If he was walking too fast to safely keep his cold gun concealed, he didn’t care. 

Len reached the safehouse with a flurry of the door opening and snapping shut. He hadn’t realized how heavily he was breathing, how fast he must have been walking, until he stopped, and with the door closed behind him blocking out all sound from outside, the only noise was his gasps for air—that sounded too much like crying. 

He slammed his fist into the wall. Leonard Snart did not cry. He never cried. Not over somebody else. Len had hardened his heart a long time ago. He was strong. Unmoving. Cold. Nothing could touch him anymore. _Nothing could touch him._

Until a boy with soulful eyes and a sweet, teasing smile crossed his path.

Next to where he’d punched was a mirror set at just the right height for Len to look himself in the eyes. Lisa had wanted one by all of the doors, not merely so she could give herself a final once over before leaving any safehouses, but so they could see if anyone was behind them. 

Now the mirror mocked Len. Because of Scudder. Because of his battered reflection. Because what he saw there was something Barry had looked at and decided so fiercely he didn’t want that he’d ran. 

The howl that tore from Len startled him as he reared back with his fist again and punched the glass. Only as the pieces cracked and shattered did he notice the reflection of someone standing behind him. 

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Len whipped around as his now bloody hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his cold gun…only to go limp as he saw that it was Mick. 

Mick wore clean jeans and a heather grey Henley, which meant he hadn’t been doing any mechanic work today, probably just crashing on the couch to watch the game, have a few beers, and enjoy a quiet night in. Mick needed that once in a while—the stillness and the solitude. Too many nights like that though and he’d need to go out and burn something. 

“Someone we gotta take out?” Mick crossed his arms tightly as he drew closer and saw the state of Len’s face and hand, and how quickly he’d reached for his gun. “Or there some other reason you’re busting up my safehouse?”

Len didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he let his tension go. “Mick…sorry. Didn’t know you were here.” Mick tended to squat wherever it suited him, though he had a few favored safehouses. Not really any place that was solely his, though wherever he was, was always _his_ in his mind. 

“Not much of an answer.” Mick eyed him. “Don’t remember that shiner from Scudder either,” he gestured at Len’s eye. “Tell me who I need to torch. Been itching to set something on fire anyway. Someone’s just as good if they’re causing you this kinda grief. You only destroy shit when you’re beyond pissed. Never handle it like a normal person and pick a bar fight, nah, you gotta take it out on somethin’ that doesn’t hit back.” He shook his head like he’d never understood that about Len. But he did understand; he understood Len better than anyone. It just wasn’t something they _said_. 

Len never hurt people when he got angry. Oh he hurt people plenty, out of necessity, or for certain benefits, but never out of anger. Too big a risk that one day he’d do it to the wrong someone, and he never wanted to risk being like that. Like his father. 

So he hurt things instead of people when the anger and grief got so bad that he needed a way to let it out with his fists. Took a crowbar to his bike once. But those situations were few and far between. Usually, there wasn’t much to make him mad enough to lose his cool. 

“Get in here,” Mick commanded when Len continued to stand there staring like an idiot. He snatched Len by the arm and dragged him behind him the rest of the way into the safehouse. “You’re enough of a mess as it is without punching glass.” 

It wasn’t the first time Mick had manhandled Len to take care of him when he was half in his own world. Few people could toss Len around like that and make him feel safer for it rather than wary. Mick brought Len into the main room, where the Diamonds game was on, and an empty bottle of beer sat next to a newly opened one on the coffee table, and pushed him down onto the sofa. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a first aid kit. 

Déjà vu—again. 

Len swallowed the bile in his throat. 

“Now what the hell happened?” Mick asked, as he took out a pair of tweezers, disinfectant, and gauze. 

Len still had his trench coat on and his cold gun strapped to his thigh. He didn’t know what to say. It was too fresh. And this was _Mick_. They didn’t have heart to hearts. 

“Gimme your god damn hand, dumbass,” Mick gruffed out, before roughly grabbing Len’s wrist. For all his irritation and seeming brutishness, his meaty hands were gentle as he pulled the glass from Len’s knuckles with the tweezers. The practiced motion reminded Len too keenly of when he’d done the same for Barry after breaking the wine glass. 

_Damn it._

“Len…” Mick grumbled, and it was full of impatience but also softer, weary—worried. 

“Had a house call from Dunkirk,” Len explained, and proceeded to tell Mick all about it. He’d seen Mick briefly during the week after the heist, so he’d already explained about Scudder. Dunkirk was a whole other issue, but Mick understood. 

“So Flash came over in the nick of time and saved your ass. What’s the big deal? You do something stupid after?” 

Len felt his face contort as he warred with himself to look angry rather than stricken. 

Mick huffed. “You went and fell in love with the kid, didn’t ya?”

The pain of Mick picking glass out of his hand wasn’t enough of a distraction. Len closed his eyes as he gritted his teeth. “Don’t say it, Mick.” He couldn’t handle an ‘I told you so’ right now.

“I won’t,” Mick said. Then, after a pause, “But I _did_.” 

Len choked on a laugh that was far too close to sobbing. People always thought Mick was just dumb muscle. They had no idea. He sat back and paid attention while everyone around him was busy underestimating his intellect. He noticed things other people didn’t. Picked up on the nuances of enemies and strangers. So when it was someone he knew, few as those numbers were, he was almost never wrong. 

“What happened?” Mick asked. 

Len opened his eyes. His hand was clean now as Mick swiped disinfectant over the cuts with his thumb, and started to bind Len’s hand in gauze. Len didn’t have the luxury of healing fast like Barry. “I told him.”

“Yeah. And what he say?”

“He left.”

Len could feel Mick’s frown even without looking at him. “I’m guessing you don’t wanna hit the streets and cause a little mayhem to spite him, huh?”

Len exhaled another short, shaky laugh. “No, Mick.”

Mick grunted acknowledgment, then nodded at the screen still playing the game on mute. “Wanna stay in and get drunk?”

A smile wormed its way onto Len’s face as he looked over at his friend. Patching him up. Giving him the usual hard time while also taking care of him. Been the same song and dance since they were teenagers. Len had missed Mick terribly when they were at odds. 

As Mick met his gaze and grinned, Len only had one response. “Yes.” 

XXXXX

Sam had expected a different outcome after Flash and Cold’s romp in the bedroom turned weepy. He’d thought Flash would confess his sins right then, and salt the wound all the more for sleeping with Cold again first. But this was better. If Sam could time things just right, push Flash just that little bit more, his self-hatred would do the rest and ensure that this blowup between lovers was even worse than a too-late confession. 

A few subtle nudges here and there for both Flash and Cold, and they’d combust upon themselves. 

Sam had originally wanted to make his grand debut to the masses sooner, but this was much more fun than carrying off loot. He had everything he needed. He wanted to be seen as a master thief, the best, certainly, but he could do so much more with what The Flash and Cold had given him. With their secrets. And their lies. And The Flash’s fascinating suit. 

Flash was home, sequestering himself in his bedroom. But when he got up to use the bathroom, Sam slipped from the full length mirror on the wall and snatched up the kid’s cell phone. 

He sent a simple message to Cold— _I’m sorry_ —and faded back into the reflection before Flash returned without a trace left behind that he had been there. 

When Sam finished orchestrating the epic fall of The Flash and Captain Cold, he’d go down in history as the greatest villain Central City ever knew. 

XXXXX

An hour and two and a half beers later, with Len’s trenchcoat draped over the back of the couch, his cold gun set aside on the coffee table, and the Diamonds winning 7-3, Len wasn’t even close to buzzed enough for his phone to vibrate in his pocket. He wanted to ignore it, but he worried it would be Lisa, or some other emergency if he didn’t check. 

One new message from Scarlet. 

_I’m sorry._

Len downed the rest of his third beer. He didn’t know what was worse; being rejected or being pitied. Right now he was both, and he had no idea what to say to Barry. 

“You know you’re an idiot if you think he doesn’t feel the same way, right?” Mick said, reading the text over his shoulder. 

Len pulled the phone closer to his chest. “Not your business.”

Mick scowled at him. “Pretty sure it became my business when you smashed my mirror and crashed my Friday night.” He tipped his own beer back, on number—Len had lost count. 

Len didn’t feel like pointing out that technically all of the safehouses were his, and he’d definitely bought that mirror himself. He glanced again at the text message. “What makes you so sure?”

“Easy. Monday night.” Mick shrugged. “Coulda all gone to shit then, right?”

“It did all go to shit.”

“Coz a Scudder, not The Flash. Flash played nice. Still owes me a painting, but he didn’t just have your back that night. He played the game. _Your_ way. Had fun with it too. Woulda let you keep the diamond and plough his sweet ass all over the museum, you said.” Len frowned at Mick’s word choice, but he couldn’t deny any of it. “That sound like something he’d do for a fuck buddy?”

Len hadn’t thought so. He’d been pretty certain of his gamble before he made it. He’d been nervous, terrified, but he’d still been confident that he was right—that he was telling Barry what the kid wanted to hear. What he deserved to hear. Because it was honestly how Len felt, and Barry needed to know that. 

“All these chances to make scarce when things got tough,” Mick went on. “Pouring his heart out to you, listening to you do the same, snuggling up watching… _Escape from L.A._ ”

“ _Big Trouble in Little China._ ”

“Whatever.” Mick rolled his eyes. “Point is I’m bettin’ you just spooked the kid. Probably never expected you’d be the one to confess first. Not exactly your style.” He frowned at his now empty beer bottle and set it on the coffee table. But rather than get up to retrieve another, he sat forward on the sofa. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, yeah? Bet he’ll go to STAR Labs, check in or whatever he does. Why not head him off?”

Len set his empty bottle next to Mick’s. “Just show up?”

“Done it before.” 

“Not since we started sleeping together.”

“What’s he gonna do? Haul your ass to Iron Heights?”

Unlikely. But West might. Could be worth the risk that the detective wouldn’t be there though. And if Cisco or Caitlin were, well…they both knew about Len and Barry now. Even if they didn’t approve, they’d leave Barry to his business. 

If Len messaged Barry back asking for them to talk, or called him outright, he’d likely end up right back where he was earlier in the week, suffering deflection after deflection while Barry held him on the line. Kid couldn’t commit to what he wanted. Had more baggage than what he’d told Len about maybe, and needed a push. Fine. Showing up at the Labs just meant Len wanted to talk and wouldn’t let Barry run out on him again. 

“I’m not putting up with your moping bullshit,” Mick said, finally standing to cross to the small kitchen, “so get it together. Talk things out with Red. He don’t give ya the answer you want, ice him.” He grinned as he returned with two more bottles of beer and handed one to Len. “He get his head out of his ass, maybe you keep him around. You tell him he owes me a painting, but if he lets us do our thing,” Mick shrugged again as he sat and reached over to clink his bottle against Len’s. Len couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, buddy, whatever makes ya happy.” 

XXXXX

Barry had told himself that if Snart ever said he loved him, that would be the end of it, that would be the moment he broke the man’s heart. Then it had happened. And Barry had lost it. He ran— _again_. 

He was such a fucking coward. 

He’d had his con thrown back in his face, and instead of coming clean in that moment, Barry had left Snart naked and alone on his bed. He hadn’t slept at all that night. Now that it was morning, he didn’t want to get out of bed, even though he had promised to meet Cisco at the Labs. Joe called him for breakfast. Even Wally peeked his head in. But Barry said he just wanted to be lazy today and sleep a little longer. 

“Save me some breakfast, okay? Just been a long week.”

He lay there, bundled in his covers, staring at his reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room. He didn’t know how to fix this. His life was a joke. A shambled wreck. And he’d made the mess all on his own. 

A flicker of red in Barry’s eyes made him jolt upright in bed. But as he stared harder at his reflection, he didn’t see it again. Either Scudder was messing with him, or he was losing his mind. Losing himself…

He clenched his eyes shut. “Reflections aren’t real. Scudder is real. Just Scudder. The rest is only in my head.”

“You so sure about that, Barry?”

A jolt of fear shot through Barry as his eyes sprung open. His reflection looked normal, but that had definitely been his voice. 

He climbed off the bed and walked slowly toward the mirror with a fierce glare. “I know that’s you, Scudder. _Mirror Master._ You can’t fool me. You want to fight, then fight me. _Kill me._ But I won’t let you into my head again. I am not my reflection. I’m _not_.” He faced himself down, two feet from being able to reach out and touch the glass. 

The only warning he got was the way his reflection suddenly smirked. 

Barry surged backwards. 

“Oh really?” his reflection said, dressed in his same underwear and T-shirt. “Well if you’re not like me then how come you didn’t tell Snart the truth last night? Afraid it’ll tarnish your perfect image if your villain finds out you play dirtier than he does?”

Barry’s stomach twisted, but he had to be angry instead of afraid. He stood his ground. 

“You haven’t even confessed the truth to your best friend,” his own voice from his own sneering face continued. “They all defend you because they don’t know how low you’ve sunk. Would Cisco still pat you on the back and tell you you’re nothing like Wells if he knew the truth?”

“Shut up.” Barry clenched his fists tighter. “I know I was wrong. I know that. And I’m going to fix it.”

“Yes. You definitely seem to be leaping to the task, don’t you?” His reflection eyed him up and down. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe your friends will band together to help you win Snart’s heart. Oh that’s right,” he grinned as he tilted his head to the side, “you already won it. You just decided to crush it into the dirt.”

“Shut up!”

“Barry?”

Barry spun toward the door, petrified to see Joe standing there when Scudder could attack at any moment—

But when he swung back around to look in the mirror, his reflection was just him. No distortion or change. It was just him.

“Everything okay?” Joe asked more seriously as he entered the room. 

Barry honestly didn’t know. It had to be Scudder. It had to be Scudder. Barry wasn’t crazy. Barry wasn’t turning into his reflection. That he even needed to say that to himself sounded so insane. He needed to talk to Cisco. Cisco was the only one who knew everything, the only one who would understand. He’d vouched for Snart. He’d know what to do.

“Barry…” Joe appeared in the reflection beside Barry and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. 

Barry snapped to attention. “Sorry, Joe. I fell back asleep and had a nightmare. You know they’re always worse when you’re right on the edge of waking.” He smiled, but didn’t try too hard to make it real. “I’m okay. Just trying to shake off the dream. Really. I should head out to meet Cisco. We have to come up with something to take care of Scudder.”

“If you’re sure, Barr.” Joe squeezed his shoulder firmly. “But breakfast first, okay?” He pointed a parental finger at him. 

Barry chuckled. “Deal.”

Barry held his smile until the moment Joe left, then frowned as he looked at his reflection again. No motion he made or whispered word he threw at it caused the imposter to resurface. Barry resigned himself to getting dressed and heading out to meet the day. 

Before heading downstairs, he reached for his bottle of pills. He held three in his hand for a solid minute before he finally put the third one back and took only two. 

XXXXX

After downing a hasty breakfast, Barry zipped to the Labs. Food and his pills had him feeling marginally better. If he explained things to Cisco, maybe that would make confessing to Snart that much easier. Maybe Cisco would have some insight on how to do it. 

Maybe Cisco would never want to look at him again after finding out what a low and dirty bastard Barry had been these past several weeks. 

Barry slowed his steps, and occupied himself with smoothing down his burgundy sweater. Looking down was easier than looking around him. Every so often along the hallways into the cortex there was a surface that held a little too much…reflection. Sometimes Barry thought he saw a flicker of red. Sometimes he was certain it was just his imagination. Sometimes he felt like he was being watched. And the worst part was he didn’t know which feelings were the truth. Scudder had power over him whether he was really there or not. 

“Hey, Barry, you’re late,” Cisco’s voice startled Barry as he realized he’d already reached the labs. Cisco sat at his customary desk, with coffee and a grin on his face. But as Barry opened his mouth to respond, Cisco raised a hand. “Hold that thought.”

He pressed a button on the computer…and every reflective surface, every bit of glass, every window or mirror, fogged over like they’d been frosted or covered in paint. Barry stared at the window nearest him in awe. Nothing. No reflection. 

“Cisco…”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not like a device you can take anywhere you want. But I could probably set something like this up in your house, anywhere else we need, maybe the precinct, and if we decide to build something to lure Scudder out—”

“This is fantastic, Cisco. Amazing.” Barry never realized how much relief he could feel just from no longer being able to see his reflection. He turned in a slow circle to look at everything as he moved toward Cisco at the desk. Even the window pane he’d once cracked now had a smoky look to it that Scudder couldn’t penetrate. 

“It’s only in this room for now, but give me the weekend and I’ll have the whole building locked down.” Cisco rolled his chair back a couple inches and spread his arms wide. “Give me some love. Who’s the best?”

“You are the best, Cisco,” Barry said unabashedly. “Thank you.”

Cisco shrugged with mock modesty, and grabbed his coffee to take another drink. “So. What’s with the late arrival? You didn’t do patrol last night, so I figured…Snart?” He winked. 

Barry’s nausea returned full force. 

“Whoa, dude, relax,” Cisco’s smile instantly vanished. “I am so not belittling your romance. It’s just you said you hadn’t broken things off yet, so I thought maybe you changed your mind. Not that I’m trying to side with Snart here, it’s your decision, your love life—”

“ _Cisco_.” Barry didn’t mean for his voice to crack, but every time he thought he had a handle on things, the worst of it rushed to the forefront of his mind again and he felt like he was drowning. 

“Barry…what?” Cisco was quiet now, earnest. “Tell me.”

The words rushed out of Barry like a wave, “He told me he loved me.” He hadn’t known where to begin, but apparently that was it. 

Cisco nearly tipped his coffee over as he struggled to right it on the desk. “He…seriously? He said the words? Snart said ‘I love you’?”

Barry nodded numbly. 

“Mazel tov?” Cisco shrugged. “Barry, why does being told he loves you make you look like he killed your cat?”

Barry steeled himself as he looked down at his friend. “Because. I’ve been lying to him from the start.”

XXXXX

Len parked his bike along the outside wall near the back entrance he always used when slipping into STAR Labs. He wondered for a moment if Cisco might have put in any new security measures since the last time he broke in, but nope. They really needed to work on that. Anyone could just walk right in at any moment. 

Len couldn’t be sure if Barry was even here, but if the place was open, lights on, then Cisco had to be here at least. It helped that Len and Cisco had a rapport now, mostly centered around Lisa secretly chatting with him and giving up Len’s private cell phone number, but it was better than being remembered as the guy who iced Cisco’s brother’s hand. Not that Len had caused any lasting damage. That had never been the goal. 

Len fussed more than he usually would with his button down and coat. He’d gone for something almost casual today; his shirt untucked, slacks, his trench. He didn’t want to look like he was geared up for a fight. He just had to confront this head on. Insist to Barry that they were going to talk. That’s all he’d ask for—that they talk. If the conclusion of their conversation was that Barry didn’t feel the same, then so be it. Len could be the bigger man. He didn’t think he could be ‘friends’ with Barry after what they’d been through. Couldn’t go back to just fucking. Couldn’t continue as they were always knowing that Barry didn’t really want him as deeply as Len did. But he wouldn’t leave Barry high and dry with Scudder. That bastard deserved what he got. 

Faintly, Len heard Cisco and Barry’s voices as he neared the cortex, and decided to push onward faster so he wouldn’t get distracted. He’d just interrupt whatever they were doing and—

An odd flicker of movement drew Len’s attention, and he faltered in his steps. He glanced aside. His reflection was dimly displayed along the wall, but for a moment he’d sworn it hadn’t been in step with him. He waved his hand, just to be sure he hadn’t imagined things. His reflection moved with him. Scudder had him all kinds of paranoid. 

Len continued at a slower pace and listened to be sure that Barry and Cisco were alone. For the first time, Len wanted to do right by someone. Sure, part of his motivations were still selfish, because he wanted Barry, he wanted him and everything they’d shared these past few weeks. But he also wanted it for Barry’s sake, to see the kid smile without darkness hiding in the depths of his eyes. 

“Barry, why does being told he loves you make you look like he killed your cat?”

Len came to a stop just outside the entrance. They were talking about him. 

“Because,” Barry said. “I’ve been lying to him from the start.”

XXXXX

Sam had to commend Cisco. His little trick was very unfortunate. Sam couldn’t get into any of the reflections in the main labs while that projection was on. But he could still overhear things well enough from the hallway, enough that he had been able to stall Cold for just the right amount of time. 

Sam had a clear view of Cold’s face as the man’s expression dropped at Flash’s words. All Sam had to do now was sit back and enjoy the show. 

XXXXX

“I set him up,” Barry said, causing Len to train his ear closer. “When I first propositioned Snart in Jitters, I’d overheard him and Lisa talking about me. About him wanting me. I was so _angry_ ,” he growled, as fierce as Len remembered from those early days. “All the feelings that had been rushing through me when I fought Camouflage surged up again and I just wanted to…hurt someone. I figured, why did it have to be physical? Why not hurt someone like I’d been hurt? Wells using me. _Snart_ using me. I wanted someone I could use back.”

Len fell against the wall of the hallway and felt the blood drain from his face even as he told himself he wasn’t hearing this.

“Suddenly there was my opportunity. I wanted a little release, yeah, something to distract me, to make me feel good, and Snart, well, he is pretty easy on the eyes,” Barry gave a short, cruel laugh. “Now I knew he was interested. So I approached him, caught his attention, and all the while I had a plan. It was a game. To make him want me. Make him fall for me. Make him _love_ me. So I could throw him away and make him feel used and betrayed like he’d done to me.” 

_No one will ever love a waste of space like you._

“I wanted to hurt him. To break him. To teach him a _lesson_ ”—Len shuddered—“And it was so easy. To act the right way. The way I thought he’d want. To say the right things. To give and take just enough to leave him wanting more. Make him hungry for it. Even beg me for it.” 

“Barry…” Cisco finally spoke, a disbelieving gasp of Barry’s name that startled Len back to reality. 

He was going to be sick all over the floor. He had to get out of there. He was such a fool, such a god damn _fucking_ idiot. 

“I _hated_ him for what he’d done to me,” Barry said, just to further twist the knife. “For what he was. What he represented. And it justified everything.”

Len pushed from the wall with such force that he fell forward into the other side and slammed his fist against it before he took off down the hallway.

XXXXX

A bang caused Barry to whip his head toward the entrance. What was that? 

“Barry, dude, you—”

“Hang on.” Barry stood from where he’d been leaning against the desk and walked swiftly over to the entrance with a strange buzzing feeling in his gut that something was very, very wrong. He placed his hand on the doorframe, but when he peered around to look down the hallway, no one was there. 

“Barry?” Cisco called after him. 

Barry looked back. He really was losing his mind. As he walked back to Cisco, he looked down at his hands and realized how tightly he’d been clenching his fists, having left half-moon indents in his palms almost deep enough to draw blood.

“You did all of that just to make Snart suffer?”

“Yes.” 

“Shit, man, that’s…” 

“Awful? Disgusting?” 

“Not like you.” 

Barry looked up, and Cisco’s repulsion might have been coated in pity, but it didn’t make anything better. “But it is like me. Lately. I wanted to hurt someone, Cisco. Like what Wells did to me. _I_ wanted to be the one in control, the one pulling someone else’s strings. Wells was right. I’m just like him.” 

“Barry, you’re not—”

“But I _am_.” Barry clenched his fists again, uncaring to how much it hurt. “And Wells knew it. He knew I’d never be happy. That I’d end up bitter and angry and alone just like him.” 

“Barry,” Cisco stood abruptly from his chair, “Reverse Flash was crazy—” 

“And it’s somehow better that I’m not?” Barry snapped. 

But Cisco didn’t flinch or back down. “No, Barry. It’s awful, what you were going to do. It’s really awful. But you know that. And you stopped yourself before going through with it. It doesn’t make things better, it doesn’t make it okay, but it’s a start. Wells—Thawne—he never saw what he was doing as him being the bad guy. You know you’ve been the bad guy and you hate yourself for it. You’ve been hating yourself this whole time. You ever stop to think that maybe the reason you’ve been so wrecked lately is _because_ you’re acting out of character?”

Barry opened his mouth to speak but no words formed. He’d been feeling fractured and torn apart for months, and all he’d done since then was pull at his seams that much harder. 

“Do you love him, Barry? Or do you just feel guilty for lying to him?”

Gentle hands touched Barry’s closed fists, and he blinked at how close Cisco was, his dark eyes looking up at Barry in concern. Slowly, Barry let his fists loosen. “I don’t know. Everything’s different now. _He_ is so different from what I expected. He's caring. And thoughtful. He listens to me, takes care of me, and everyone around him. What am I supposed to do? I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him _back_. I have to tell him the truth.” 

Cisco’s face scrunched in sympathy. “Okay. But it’s not gonna be easy for him to hear all this. You gotta explain it the right way. He really put himself out there for you, Barry. If you love him, even if you don't, then you need to tell him that too. But once you come clean, I think you’ll finally start to feel more like you again. And then, I promise, things will get easier.” He smiled encouragingly. “Now, for real this time, any other giant secrets you’re keeping from me that could potentially have disastrous results?”

Barry laughed, and Cisco lifted his hands to squeeze Barry's arms. “No,” Barry said, “fresh out of disasters.”

“Come on, screw Scudder for the rest of the morning. Let’s practice what you’re going to say to Snart. Then you can go talk to him. We’ll worry about Scudder later.” 

“Thank you,” Barry said, the weight on his shoulders having lessened considerably just imagining a tomorrow where all of this might actually be behind him. He was going to make this right. He had to. “You’re right, Cisco. I don't know if I love him, but I don’t want to lose him yet.” He smiled as Cisco patted his shoulder again and sat back down in his chair. “Sometimes he feels like the only good part of me left.”

XXXXX

Len felt like he was slowly suffocating until he reached the same door he’d entered, and threw it open to breathe in the outside air. He was shaking, and too hot, and fighting for breath until he reared back and kicked his bike over with a crash. The clatter echoed around him through the large expanse of the parking lot at STAR Labs. 

He’d been conned. Duped. Taken for a fool. And he’d practically handed himself over on a platter, he’d been so easy to manipulate. All this time Len had been so certain that Barry was some untouchable good in the world. But he was just like everybody else. 

No one used Leonard Snart. No one did this to him. No one made him _feel_ like…

With a final sharp intake of breath, Len cracked his neck to the side and let his fists relax. He picked up his bike, put on his helmet, and drove away from STAR Labs leaving everything about the past few weeks behind him. 

He was going to be ready the next time Flash came to see him, and he was going to make the kid pay.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember. I promised a happy ending. You've just got a ways to go before we get there. 
> 
> More soon! And possibly shorter again like this one, given where I want to end the next chapter. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rock bottom never felt quite like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember I promise it will end happy. I know how I'm going to get them there. Have faith.

Barry smoothed down his burgundy sweater again. If it was a work day he would have worn a button down underneath it, but today there was just a wife beater to protect him from the occasional itch of the fabric. The V showed off a bit of skin that he felt oddly self-conscious about right now. 

He wore jeans and his dark canvas jacket, which he’d stuffed his hands into the pockets of to calm his nerves with the cool feel of Snart’s goggles beneath his fingers. He’d nearly forgotten about them until Cisco produced them for him to take with him. A peace offering, something physical he could give Snart when he’d taken so much. He could have stopped at the station for the comms too, but he was anxious to see Snart.

He’d messaged him on the way. _You home?_

_At the moment._

_Can we talk?_

_I’ll be here._

It was almost too easy, but Barry knew it was Snart’s true nature shining through, his goodness and desire to be cared for that Barry had thrown back in his face. But this was his chance. He’d practiced with Cisco how to explain in a dozen different ways that would hopefully soften the blow and make it clear that Barry did care about Snart. He just hoped the words he chose would be enough.

He couldn’t avoid hurting Snart. He already had. But if the man only gave him a chance, Barry might be able to love him if they could move past this. He thought maybe he already did— _love_ Snart. But he hated _himself_ so much, he didn’t know if he was capable.

The walk to Snart’s apartment was over much faster than yesterday, even though Barry had flashed to the same spot and walked the same few blocks. He didn’t run into anyone on the streets this time, and no one was in the hallways of the apartment building when he entered.

He reached Snart’s door, took out the goggles, and knocked gently. It took only fifteen seconds for the door to open. 

The faint scent of Snart’s cologne greeted Barry, and he looked—wow. Besides the bruise around his eye, the rest of his visible wounds were nearly healed, and he still managed to look smug and self-assured. Beautiful. He wore black pants and a lighter grey sweater that complimented him so well compared to his usual darker style. 

But his expression…Barry caught the edge to it, the way the smirk was nothing more than a mask, his body language stiff and defensive.

Then Barry noticed that Snart’s right hand, holding the door open, was wrapped in gauze. His hand hadn’t been hurt last night.

“Are you okay? Did something else happen?” Barry took an abortive step forward, but Snart flinched and didn’t step aside from being half-hidden behind his door to grant Barry entry. 

“Not sure that’s any of your business,” Snart said, his smile a bitter twist.

Barry sank in on himself as he stared down at the goggles in his hands. “I know you probably hate me right now, and you have every right to, but will you at least let me explain?” He risked a glance up after the silence stretched for too long. 

Snart’s smirk had fallen away, but that only made him more difficult to read. Just as Barry was certain the man was about to shut the door in his face, he stepped back and opened it wider for Barry instead. “Come in.”

Relief surged through Barry’s veins like a shock of lightning. He’d succeeded at step one: entry. Now he just had to get Snart to hear him out. He held the goggles out in offering before stepping inside. Snart took them, but made a point to avoid the brush of Barry’s fingers. 

Barry pushed aside the flip of his stomach as he crossed the threshold. Snart didn’t ask him to take off his shoes, but Barry did so anyway. As he stepped further into the room, he remained facing away from Snart and immediately started talking. He had to get this out of him before he lost his nerve.

“First, let me say how sorry I am. Which I know is hugely inadequate to make up for what I did. There is nothing lower than running out on you after you’d…and after _we’d_ …” Barry clenched his eyes shut at the memory of just how terrible a thing he’d done to Snart, and the man didn’t even know half the truth of it. “That was terrible of me, but there’s a good—an awful, really awful—reason why I left. And…” Barry trailed as a shiver ran through him. Why was it so cold all of a sudden?

He opened his eyes, and when he took a breath he saw the puff of air escape him like a clear stream of smoke. Slowly, he lifted his hands that were already shivering, and over the skin and his clothes formed a thin coating of frost.

“ _Len?_ ”

Barry tried to whip around, but his movements were already sluggish. He turned at a snail’s pace. Snart stood behind him with his back pressed to the door to stay as far away from Barry as possible, the goggles Barry had returned to him drawn down over his eyes, and a hand on the cold gun in its holster that Barry hadn’t been able to see behind the door.

“By all means,” Snart said icily, with a fresh hardness to his expression, “continue. Your lies certainly have been impressive so far.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be easy. “Len, please…” Barry took a step forward, but recoiled when Snart drew the cold gun and pointed it at him, where it whirred menacingly. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you at a distance. Where you belong.” He gestured at Barry dismissively with the gun. “Back up, or you won’t just be feeling the cold field.”

Barry’s heart felt like lead in his chest, sore and heavy as he complied if only to keep Snart talking to him. “I know you’re upset, but I came here to _explain_ —”

“Oh, I heard your explanation,” Snart sneered. “To Cisco. At the Labs this morning.”

“You…” The floor dropped out from under Barry as he realized what Snart meant. The bang Barry had heard and that feeling of wrong finally made sense. “The noise in the hallway…that was you. But you _left_.” Barry held up his hands to show he meant no harm, not anymore, he just wanted to move closer to Snart again. “You didn’t hear everything, I—”

“I heard enough. About your plan. About what an easy _mark_ I was.” Snart moved away from the door, but only to bring him closer to the kitchen, further from Barry. Never once did he lower the gun.

Barry held his hands a little higher, and tried to see Snart’s eyes through the goggles. He risked a step forward, “Let me exlpla—ah!” but cried out when a blast from the gun coated his hands. He had to duck and push his hands outward to keep the blast from hitting his face. “Len!” _Shit_ , that stung…

“I warned you, Flash. Hurts a lot worse without the suit, doesn’t it?” Snart circled around him again as Barry stumbled against the sofa, vibrating his hands as quickly as he could to melt the ice. But with the cold field up, his powers were slowed, and it was difficult to concentrate. 

He got most of the ice off after a few frantic moments— at least it was on the lowest setting—but the frost wouldn’t go away, or the numbing stiffness and pain.

“Wouldn’t try that again,” Snart said with a cruel grin, “or I might aim _lower_.” He followed the threat up with a warning dip of the gun.

Barry leaned against the couch as he rubbed his raw hands. He was shivering uncontrollably now. “I w-won’t move, but... _please_ , Len. T-Turn the damn thing off so we can...t-talk about this.”

Finally, Snart lifted the cold gun to rest on his shoulder, but the feeling of the cold field didn’t dissipate. “Prefer to talk like this. You’re something else, ya know that? Put on quite the show all these weeks. Never would have thought you had it in you. Except when you attacked me at the museum. That I know was real. What happened, huh?” He shifted his head with a mocking tilt. “Got all mad thinking I’d teamed up with Scudder and beat you to the punch? Sorry to disappoint, Barry, but the betrayal’s all on you this time. Though I did get you into the apartment, didn’t I? Guess I haven’t learned my _lesson_ yet.” 

The word spat from Snart’s mouth with venom behind it. Of course Barry understood. Lewis had taught his kids ‘lessons’ and that was exactly the word Barry had used when explaining to Cisco. But he hadn’t meant it like _that_. “P-Please…you have to _listen_ —”

“I HAVE to?” Snart swung the cold gun forward with a snarl, and rose up taller in his anger. “Do I have to, Barry?”

Barry reached out with a frost-bitten hand, but he barely inched his foot the slightest bit forward before the cold gun fired again and froze it to the floor. “ _Stop,_ ” he choked out. It was only marginally less painful than his hands with his pants and sock to protect him. 

“Stay. Put.” Snart ground out through gritted teeth. 

“ _Please_ …” Barry hunched over, wanting to touch his foot but also not, because the ice was so cold. Willing the speed force to life was so much harder in the cold field. He felt the vibrations begin, but the process was slower, making his eyes tear up at how much it hurt without the suit. 

“No,” Snart said with a coldness to his tone that made Barry shiver harder than anything the ice was causing. “What happens if I drop the field, Barry? You gonna force me?” He squared his stance but didn’t move any closer, keeping himself safely in the eye of the field, while Barry remained at the edge. “You could. Too fast for me to stop normally, especially in close quarters. Would you make me do what you want, since it’s so easy for you to twist me around?” 

“No…Len, I…I s-swear…” Barry fell to his knees when he’d finally shaken off most of the ice from his foot. The effort had him so drained. He hurt everywhere now. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he could feel the frost over his face and coating his hair, as he looked up at Snart who seemed so far away from him. 

Through the blue haze of the goggles, Snart’s eyes were fire and fury. “Just like that night, right? Pushed all my buttons and still got me to let you touch me. Now _that_ …is talent.” 

Barry fell forward, dropping his arms just in time to catch himself and keep from collapsing fully. He didn’t want to fight. He’d been fighting for so long, and he didn’t have a right to fight this. He wanted to feel the pain. He deserved to feel it. He’d given Snart a panic attack that night, thrust him into the darkest place imaginable, made him think Barry might actually…take him against his will…and now he thought Barry had done it all on _purpose_. 

“I guess that night was all just part of the plan too.” 

“No…”

“To break me down. To make me _pay_.”

“ _No_.”

All at once, warmth enveloped Barry and he sagged in relief. It was like coming in from outside after being caught in a blizzard. Snart had turned off the cold field. Barry trembled as his body fought to warm itself up. With great effort, he sat back on his ankles and looked up at Snart again, who still held the cold gun but limply at his side.

“Then tell me, Barry. What are you going to do?”

He was testing him, waiting to see if Barry would prove he was the villain Snart believed him to be. Barry knew he could never make up for what he’d done, especially not after Snart had heard the truth in the worst possible way, but he had to explain, he had to try to make Snart understand. 

Taking in deeper breaths now that it no longer burned his throat, Barry summoned a surge of lightning. He blurred with vibrations all throughout his body to shake off the remaining traces of ice. 

All the while, Snart kept in a ready stance, not giving Barry even an inch, despite having dropped the field. He didn’t trust him. Of course he didn’t. Barry had taken the trust Snart gave him, a rare trust for anyone to be granted, and shattered it. 

Slowly, even though he was mostly okay now save his reddened, aching skin, Barry rose to his feet. “I’m not going to do anything. You left before I finished explaining. You don’t know the whole truth.”

“So tell me,” Snart said, softer, but colder somehow, numb and challenging at the same time. “What would I have heard if I stayed?”

“That I didn’t _mean_ it,” Barry spoke as heartfelt as he could.

Snart scoffed, laughed, and tilted his head at Barry again. “That’s it? That’s the best lie you got? After the lengths you went to? Wow, kid. You gotta work on your fallback plans.” 

“I’m _serious_.” Barry almost, _almost_ stepped forward, but the barest motion from him made Snart flinch and start to raise the gun again, so Barry stayed where he was. “I did mean it in the beginning, I admit that. I was planning to hurt you, to do all those terrible things you heard me say, but I changed my mind.”

Snart shook his head and backed up another step. 

“I wasn’t going to go through with it!”

“Shut up,” he snarled, raising the gun squarely.

“Len—”

“I don’t want to hear any more of your lies, Barry!”

“It wasn’t a lie! It wasn’t…all a lie.” Barry felt so weighted down, as if his sins hung heavy from his jacket like the dampness left behind from the cold field. He’d never seen Snart this standoffish, even when they were enemies. Ready for a fight, yes, but not as if he feared Barry. “Everything you learned about me, all those things I confided in you, that was all true.” 

“And everything else was bullshit,” Snart spat, all trace of forced humor lost in his sneer and the tightness of his jaw.

“No.” Barry didn’t try to hide the desperation and grief in his expression. “Not everything. Not…every time. When we were together—”

“Which ones were real, Barry?” Snart demanded. “Huh? Which ones were fake?” 

“Last night—”

“Just then? Only then? And that’s supposed to mean something to me?” 

“No!” Barry moved forward and Snart fired again without hesitation, but because the cold field was down, Barry was able to dodge out of the way, causing the blast to coat the wall beside the door instead. He held up his hands, pleading with Snart to not fire again as he stayed where he was. “No, I promise, it was more than that, I just didn’t realize—”

“Then which ones, Barry?” Snart re-centered the gun on Barry with a warning twitch on the trigger. “Which times? Which words were true? Which times did you mean it when you _fucked_ me?” His voice cracked, and he sneered at himself for letting that weakness slip.

Barry really had broken him, opened him up and made him vulnerable in a way that he didn’t know how to face without taking back control at the point of his gun. In the beginning, Barry had doubted Snart was even capable of caring enough about someone else for this terrible plan to amount to anything. He hadn’t realized then how rare it was for Snart to take anyone into his bed for more than a single night. 

But Snart had surprised him from day one, chipped away at every preconceived notion he had of the man, until one day Barry found himself looking at someone he admired and cared for and longed to be with every time the day seemed darker, and every time something good happened that he wanted to share. It had snuck up on him, that want, the need for Snart, so suddenly that he’d only recently realized he couldn’t go through with such treachery to someone who deserved so much better.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Snart said when Barry didn’t respond, letting the gun drop again if only because he looked so weary—of Barry, of all of it. “At least I know Scudder was real. I don’t think even you’d take a beating like that just to further your con. But what do I know, maybe you would.” 

“It wasn’t like that,” Barry said, thinking of his own twisted reflection that kept telling him the awful truth—that Barry was the darkness he’d been running from, and he couldn’t escape it without help.

He needed Snart to listen, to understand, to forgive him, or how could he forgive himself? But the loathing in Snart’s voice wounded Barry deeper than he could say. It was everything he’d been feeling toward himself for so long. He’d thought that finally, in Snart, he’d found someone who could see his darkness and still want him, still believe in him, the way Barry had learned to believe in Snart, but he’d ruined it, just like he ruined everything. 

“I swear, Len, I swear, it wasn’t like that. I’m so sorry. I’m _sorry_. Please believe me….”

“ _Are_ you, Barry?” Snart said, that numb icy presence firmly in place again as he glared across the space between them. “Are you sorry? Sorry you got caught? Or sorry you don’t get to control me anymore?” 

Barry didn’t know what to say. What more could he say? He had to make Snart understand, _he had to_. His fists started to clench so tight, they hurt like they had that morning, from the blunt pressure of his nails and the remaining sting of the cold gun. “Len…just…just _listen_ …”

“You know, it’s funny, Barry,” Snart ignored him, laughing in the most terrible way, not like he used to during a heist when he’d have Barry pinned down, but sharper, hateful. “You. Playing it up like you’re scared to turn into the speedster in yellow, when you’re gunning to be the next best thing. Maybe that was the point. Maybe this whole time you’ve wanted to reshape yourself into his image. Maybe you were _grateful_ when he killed your mother.”

Barry’s stomach bottomed out and all the protest died on his tongue. He started to shake. “Don’t…don’t say that.”

“Why not? Isn’t it true?” Snart laughed again and spread his arms wide. “Coz congratulations, Barry. You’re well on your way to being just like him.”

“Stop.”

“You’re living up to his legacy like a real champ.”

“ _Stop it_ …”

“I bet he’d be _proud_ of what he turned you into.”

“Shut up!” Barry screamed—and in that moment, he saw nothing but red. 

In the blink of an eye he had his hands on Snart, clutching his sweater as he sped them across the room and slammed him into the wall beside the desk. It all happened too fast for Snart to react, too fast for Barry to realize what he was doing until it was over. 

Barry scrambled back the second he realized what he’d done, but Snart was already laughing again. He didn’t even try to re-aim his gun or fight back, he just…laughed.

XXXXX

Len was right. All Barry had needed was the right push to reveal his true colors. And it was so…funny, wasn’t it? That Len had believed he’d found something good, that he’d believed he could have someone good, who wouldn’t do what everyone else always had—use and abuse him, and throw him away. Barry was just another copy of the same story wearing a different face.

Len wouldn’t be fooled again. Not again. So he laughed as he leaned against the wall Barry had pushed him into, sore and beaten but not broken. He refused to be broken.

“There you are, Barry,” he huffed as he caught his breath. “There’s the real you. You wanna hurt me? Go ahead then. Hurt me!” he yelled as Barry stumbled back, still try to keep up the lie.

“No… I…I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

Len laughed—and laughed again. He couldn’t believe he’d ever looked at this kid with reverence. He wanted to ice him again, but no. Barry deserved worse. “You don’t want to hurt me. You just wanted to _ruin_ me. That takes a special kind of evil. But you felt justified, didn’t you, Barry? Because I’m a bad man, who’s done bad things, so that makes it okay. Coz if you’re the victim first, it’s okay to make a victim out of somebody else.” 

He pushed away from the wall, cold gun at his side, but not aimed; he didn’t need to. He stalked slowly forward, and Barry backed up with every step. 

“The hero can do something as heartless as the villain, but as long as he pretends to feel bad about it later, he’s not the bad guy. If you’re good, and you climb your way out of the darkness, everyone cheers for you, but if you start out as trash, well…you’re just trash forever.” 

“Len…I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” Len surged forward, feeling his fury building, and he let it build, if only to see Barry backing off, finally letting him reclaim the power Barry had only pretended to give him before. “I kept thinking, nah, the kid’s just hurting and in a dark place, whenever I saw that sinister part of you creep in. But I get it now. That’s the real you. The rest is just a convenient mask for those of us too stupid to tell the difference.” 

Barry shook his head, halfway across the floor now, almost back to where he’d been beside the couch, and Len stuck with him all the way. “I don’t…I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this.”

Len was so sick of Barry trying to deny the truth. He tore the goggles from his eyes to let them dangle at his neck, and shoved the cold gun back into its holster. Barry wasn’t so villainous that he’d try to kill him, Len knew that much. Barry had his lines that he wouldn’t cross, but he’d crossed plenty others, and that’s all Len needed to know. He had him now, and he wouldn’t give up his power again. 

He was going to show Barry just who he was _fucking_ with. 

“Well done, kid. You conned a conman. You became everything you claim to hate. You _won_.”

“No…this isn’t what I wanted,” Barry said as he backed up into the door. The patch of ice Len had shot at the wall was still misting. 

“Isn’t it?” Len said, as cold and unfeeling as Barry had been to him. “Isn’t this exactly what you planned? I said I love you and you _left me_ there.” 

“I know…I’m _sorry_ …”

Fuck, those eyes, and the way they pleaded. Len knew it was just another lie. Barry might feel bad now because he was being called out, but that didn’t absolve him of what he was and what he’d done. He needed to pay. He was going to _pay._

Len would have slammed his hand into the door beside Barry’s head, but he didn’t want to get that close—not yet. He held back and stood before Barry, calm and in control. “Do you remember what I said about Lewis? About the worst part of his abuse?”

Barry gasped, shaking, eyes watering, but it didn’t matter if even part of that was real—Len didn’t believe any of it. He saw in Barry’s eyes the moment when the kid realized exactly what he meant. 

“I said that the worst part…was how even at his nastiest he’d still pretend like he loved us. That’s how I learned love is a lie. And you, Barry, reminded me of that.” Now he moved forward, just a single step. “So thank you for the _lesson_. Guess I needed to learn it after all.” 

“Len…I don’t want this. I didn’t want this. I wanted to fix it. I came here to _fix_ it!” 

Bile churned in Len’s stomach, because even now, even now Barry thought he could con him. “You think I’d ever let you touch me again? That I’d listen to a word you say? You are something else. But why not, Barry?” The last thing Len wanted was to be as close to Barry as he moved now, crowding in on his space against the door, moving into his body that only just last night had moved inside of Len like there was something beautiful in the way they connected—but this was the moment that mattered. 

This was how he ruined Barry in return. 

“Here’s one for the road,” Len said, as he pressed a hand to the wall finally and gripped Barry’s waist roughly with the other. “So you know what you’re missing.” 

He kissed him. And it was ice and it was anger, nothing sweet or caring about it. The press of his lips and the bite of his teeth as he forced his tongue inside and waited for Barry to respond as he knew the kid would. And oh how Barry did, how he opened right up and kissed back like he was desperate to claim some leverage, to convince Len in the swirl of their tongues that there was something there to salvage. 

But Len wasn’t anyone’s _bitch_ , and he wasn’t going to bend to Barry Allen. It didn’t matter that for a moment, he did give in, and kiss harder and deeper because he wanted to remember this feeling, because he wanted to savor Barry’s body, and mouth, and skin for just a little longer before he had to let it go. He hated how weak he felt in that moment when he lost himself in the ruse, because Barry had been right about one thing that first night they shared. 

No one would ever compare to him—to the version Len had believed he once had. And for that he hated Barry even as part of him still loved the kid enough to make that sting. 

Barry sobbed out of the kiss when Len pulled back and tried to follow him, tried to reconnect their lips, to tangle his hands in Len’s sweater and hang on tight. But Len pushed him off, ripped Barry’s hands away, and wiped his mouth like the kiss hadn’t been a painful goodbye for him too. 

“Len…” Barry’s eyes looked so green as they glistened at him. 

_No._ Never again. 

Len shoved Barry to the side of the door so he could wrench it open. “We’re done. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

While Barry was still finding his feet, Len thrust him out into the hallway, kicked his shoes out after him, and slammed the door in his face. If he really believed the worst of the kid, he’d half expect him to phase right back inside, but Barry wasn’t going to pummel him to make his point. Oh, he had it in him, but that wasn’t part of the game. It would spoil the lies he told himself about being a hero.

It should have felt good to be rid of him. Len almost expected a knock, a cry, another plea for him to let Barry back in. But nothing came. Just the faint shuffle of feet walking away from the door. 

When Len reached up to wipe his face—not because there were tears there, damn it, he wouldn’t allow tears—he cursed himself for how much his hands shook. 

Barry was going to pay. And it was going to be more than worth it to watch him fall. No one tried to bring Leonard Snart down without bringing themselves down too. 

XXXXX

The show at Cold’s apartment made Sam shiver in anticipation. He’d been waiting for this, for the right moment to play his hand. Tearing Flash from Cold was one thing, but now he had to break the wayward hero down further. Pull him from his family. His friends. His livelihood. Give him no sanctuary or place to run. 

Then when he made the switch, no one would be the wiser. 

Sam watched Cold a little longer, and was surprised to see just what the good Captain got up to after Flash left. Sam didn’t need to play his hand after all. Cold had his own game he was playing, and it would be even sweeter to bring Flash low. 

Sam threw his head back and laughed as Cold worked at his computer. They made it so easy. He barely had to do a thing, and Flash and Cold continued to ruin themselves all on their own. 

XXXXX

Barry didn’t remember much about the walk home. He didn’t once run. He couldn’t find the strength. It wasn’t from the cold field, or the blasts from the gun, though those had hurt—so much. But as always Barry healed, wiping away any trace that he had been hurt, except for the pain so potent and deep inside of him, he could barely breathe. 

It was all his fault. Snart was right about everything. His _reflection_ was right. He was a monster. He was the same as Eobard. Cisco, all the others, they just told Barry what he wanted to hear, because they didn’t want to believe he could be as cruel as the villain they’d once faced. But even when Barry had made his plan against Snart, he’d thought of Reverse Flash, how he’d hurt him; how Barry wanted to hurt someone else the same way. 

He’d tried to make it right, but he couldn’t. Some things can’t be made right after they’re broken. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save Eddie. He couldn’t save Ronnie. He couldn’t even show kindness to someone who loved him. Just like Wells. 

Because Barry had loved Wells. Like another father. A mentor. A friend. Someone to aspire to. And knowing that, nurturing that, Wells had still used him, and hurt him, and ruined his life just because he could. 

“Hey, Barr, back from the Labs already?” Wally asked when Barry entered the house, studying at the table in the living room. 

Barry smiled—and it should have been the hardest smile he’d ever mustered, but he was so numb, he didn’t even feel the strain. “Yeah. We’re gonna regroup tomorrow. Lots for me to think about. I’ll just be up in my room, okay? Call me down for dinner later?”

“Sure.” Wally nodded, but scrunched his nose as he looked at Barry. “Do you need anything, Barry? Maybe I can help brainstorm about this Mirror Master guy.”

“Thanks, Wally. I appreciate that, but…maybe tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay…”

When Barry got up the stairs, he locked his door, took off his jacket, then took off his clothes down to his underwear, and crawled under the covers. He set his phone on the nightstand, and after a few minutes, it blinked at him. 

He checked the message. It was from Cisco. 

_Hey, man. How’d it go?_

Barry didn’t realize that half an hour passed while he stared at his phone, until it buzzed again. 

_I’m gonna take your silence for either very bad news, or very good. And if it’s the latter, I definitely don’t need details._

Barry would have smiled at Cisco’s try for humor any other day. Any other time. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Lately, there wasn’t ‘any other’ anything, there was just this. This emptiness that was sometimes anger, and sometimes sadness, and always like he was hollowed out from the inside, because something was wrong with him. Something was missing that should have been there, some fundamental part of being human that he used to have, used to understand, but it was gone now, and he didn’t know how to get it back. 

He’d thought hurting someone would help. What more proof did he need to know that he was broken? Later, as he started to fall for Snart, he’d thought that maybe he…maybe Len could show Barry the way. If it hadn’t been for Scudder, maybe he could have. 

But no. Barry couldn’t blame Scudder for this. He’d had his chance and he’d ruined it all on his own. 

His phone buzzed again. 

_Barry?_

A few more minutes passed before it buzzed one more time. 

_Let me know if you need anything, okay?_

Barry set his phone back on the nightstand. He played over in his head again and again how things had gone at Snart’s apartment. He tried to think if there was anything different he could have said, but all the practice he and Cisco had gone through hadn’t prepared him for Snart already knowing the awful truth. There was no way to defend himself, because there was nothing to defend. 

Barry knew now that he _loved_ Len…only because he’d lost him. 

He stared at the mirror in his room for hours. At his cell phone on the nightstand. At his bottle of pills next to that. What bullshit. How could they work when he kept doing things worth feeling terrible about?

“Dinner, Barry! You in there?” came a knock at the door. 

Somehow the whole day had gone by. Barry didn’t want to move, but he knew if he tried to hide, his family would just try harder to help him. And he loved them for that, but he didn’t want that tonight. He didn’t deserve any help. 

So he called out, “Just finishing something, Joe! I’ll be right there!”

He dressed in comfortable clothes, pulled on a smile, and passed the rest of the evening as if he wasn’t empty and screaming inside. They even watched a movie on Netflix after dinner, something Barry couldn’t recall the name of afterward, though he’d laughed along whenever Joe and Wally did. 

After it ended, he headed up to bed early, told them he had to get back to work, thinking up ways to bring in Scudder and disrupt his abilities. It was easy to lie when he could use Cisco’s trick with fogging the mirrors as an excuse. 

“Yeah, he’s testing something, and was gonna call me later. We just need to work out a few things. I’ll probably head to the Labs again tomorrow.”

“Okay, Barry. Have a good night.”

“Night, Joe. Wally.”

He kept his clothes on this time when he crawled into bed. He wanted to be warmer. He kept thinking about the cold gun, how easily Snart had fired at him. How much he’d deserved that too. It made him shiver to remember and burrow under his covers all the more deeply. 

When he lay there for hours again and couldn’t sleep, he snatched up his bottle of pills. He’d taken the others in the morning. It was night now. It shouldn’t matter if he took another, right? Maybe if they made him feel even mildly better, he’d be able to sleep. 

He took one. 

Half an hour later, he took another. 

Finally, around midnight, he fell sleep. He slept hard until his alarm went off, and wondered if it was because of the extra pills. He knew he shouldn’t do that, of course he shouldn’t take more than Caitlin had told him, but at least he’d actually slept. 

But it wasn’t his alarm that had woken him. He hadn’t set his alarm. His phone was ringing. 

“H’lo?”

“Allen?”

Barry was instantly awake. “Captain Singh! Yes, sir…what is it?” The Captain never called him at home, especially not on his cell phone, unless it was an emergency. Barry threw the covers back and sat up on the edge of his bed. It was 9:30. 

“I need you to come in. This morning. _Now._ ” His words were clipped, rough and commanding—which wasn’t unusual, but there was something tight at the edge of his tone. 

“Captain?” It was Sunday. Not that Barry had never gone in on a Sunday, but something was definitely wrong. “Did something happen?”

“Can’t discuss it over the phone, Allen. Get in here, in my office, as soon as you can.” It started off with the usual impatience, but there was almost a note of pleading there, of trepidation.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be right there. Ten minutes.”

“Ten? You already on your way in?”

“Uhh…” Sometimes Barry forgot that a normal person would take at least a half an hour, if not more, to get across town. “Yeah! Had some work I wanted to check on. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Good. See me in my office first thing.”

“Yes, sir—” Barry started, but Singh had already hung up. 

Shit. What was that about? Maybe a break in the Scudder case? Maybe Scudder had robbed some other location while Barry sat moping at home all night. 

He immediately checked his phone for other messages. Nothing about any cases, no Flash SOS’s, just another text from Cisco about twenty minutes ago. 

_Please tell me you’re alive._

Which was funny—but also not. Because with Barry’s night job, there always was that chance that not hearing from him meant he was in serious trouble. He texted Cisco back, _Alive. Not okay. Can’t talk now, have to go into the station. I’ll call when I’m done._

Without waiting for Cisco’s response, Barry took a five minute shower, got ready the rest of the way in about thirty seconds, and dashed down the stairs, where Joe and Wally were eating breakfast. 

“Hey, we were just about to wake you—”

“Sorry, Joe, gotta run to the station.”

“The station—”

“I’ll explain later.” Barry stole a few pieces of toast and a banana, zipping around the kitchen in a blur, causing Wally to giggle and try to follow his movements with amazement on his face. “Sorry! Bye!” he called before flashing out the door. 

He arrived as he usually did when having to sneak to the station at Flash speeds, around the back where it was easy to collect himself and then walk around the corner and in through the front door like everybody else. Clutching his messenger bag and bypassing the few people in the station early on a Sunday morning, he headed straight for the Captain’s office, actually a little glad for the distraction, whatever the reason might be for being called in. 

Singh hadn’t called in Joe, so it couldn’t be anything too terrible. 

Barry knocked on the partially open door as he stuck his head in. “Sir?”

Singh’s face was stony, but also drawn with something like disappointment that wasn’t the usual way he looked at Barry when he was exasperated with him. “Close the door, Allen.”

Barry did so, and moved to sit in one of the chairs in front of Singh’s desk, as the Captain took his own seat. “You’re worrying me a little, Captain. Is everything okay?”

Singh didn’t crack even the barest smile. He held a manila folder in his hands. “I received an anonymous package this morning. Do you know what was in it?”

“No, sir,” Barry frowned. He wasn’t thinking clearly enough yet this morning to even guess. 

A sigh slipped from Singh’s lips as he slapped the manila folder down in front of Barry. “This.” 

Barry peered at it, but it had no markings. It wasn’t a case file. Understanding that he was expected to open it, he slowly did so, and felt sick the moment he saw what was inside. 

It was a photograph. A still from security footage. From inside Snart’s apartment. 

If it had been any other shot, any other time, Barry would have thought it was Scudder who sent the picture. But this was from yesterday. This was of the exact moment when Snart had Barry pinned to the door, holding him tight and kissing him roughly while Barry clung desperately to him in return. Snart had sent the photo. He’d kissed Barry just for this moment—Barry Allen harboring an escaped felon. 

“You’re suspended,” Singh’s voice broke into the haze of Barry’s downward spiral. “Pending investigation.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your comments! They keep me writing, keep me cheered up while still getting over this awful cold, and just remind me why I love this fandom so much. You are the best even while I'm ripping your hearts out.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry faces the beginnings of Len's wrath, but Len has even more in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, just WOW. THANK YOU. I knew this last chapter would be tough on all of you, so thanks for sticking with this. Remember, I will see them through this. 
> 
> Any inaccuracies with internal affairs protocol is a lacking in research, but I did my best.

It had to be something memorable, something The Flash wouldn’t be able to resist. Mick kept going on about how he was owed a painting—Len could provide. By hitting the main Central City Museum as a follow up to the failed attempt on the diamond. An anniversary of sorts, both for the mess with Scudder, if he managed to pull this off Monday night, and to the first real encounter between Captain Cold and The Flash. 

Len worked furiously at the safehouse work table, old blueprints from that initial museum heist almost a year ago now spread out before him. It was a risk to assume the museum hadn’t changed any of their security since then, but Len hadn’t cared about anonymity last year, and he didn’t care about it now. He wanted to be seen. Wanted to get The Flash on his tail. And he knew exactly where he’d lead him once he escaped with a few million worth in stolen art. 

“Lenny?” Lisa’s voice broke into his intense focus on the table. 

“You called us here?” Mick was with her. Good. 

Len barely glanced up from his work. He’d chosen the smallest of his safehouses for this, because he didn’t need much planning; he needed speed and efficiency. Thankfully, he’d already been able to do away with the gauze around his hand, though the flecks of indents in his knuckles from the glass remained. 

“Time to make up for what was denied you, Mick,” Len said. “We’re striking while the mood is hot, just the way you like it. Have a seat. This one’s going to take some careful planning.”

No response came. When neither of them moved to take one of the other stools around the worktable, Len looked up with impatience. He couldn’t take a break now; he needed them as focused as he was. But they stood across from him on the other side of the table, Lisa’s hip cocked and arms crossed; Mick wearing a potent frown. 

“What?” Len snapped. So he hadn’t slept much last night. So he was harried and rushed. He wasn’t being careless, he was being prudent. This couldn’t wait. Timing was the most important thing to make sure none of the wounds he’d inflicted healed. The photograph being delivered to Captain Singh was only step one. If he wanted Barry to really pay, then he couldn’t give him a moment’s reprieve. 

“What did he do to you?” Mick asked with a gruff, angry once-over of Len’s hunched form at the table. 

_No_. Len was not talking about this. He was _never_ talking about this. “I asked you here to help me with a heist. You want to help—stay. You want to waste time distracting me then I can do this myself.” 

He returned to the blueprints. If he wanted to avoid the police beating Flash to the scene, the least amount of potential alarms were along the north wall, which would make getting to the paintings a bit of a trek, but they’d have their pick of them before making a grand exit to trip the alarms and get Barry to try to stop him during the escape plan. 

Mick and Lisa still hadn’t moved. 

“Things were going so well,” Lisa said, too soft and sympathetic for Len’s mood right now. “If that’s suddenly changed, then I want to know why. Mick won’t tell me shit about what he knows, so you better give me something, Lenny.” The sharp impatience that entered her tone made Len glance up. Her eyes were pitying through her frustration. “What happened? Tell us. Last I checked, you weren’t above admitting you’d fallen for The Flash, so what changed?”

_Everything._

“Yeah, well Red wasn’t above being an idiot,” Mick said, earning a scowl from Lisa as she glanced between the two of them, not knowing as much as Mick did, about the initial heartbreak that had led to the worst happening later. But Mick didn’t know everything either. “How much more of an idiot was he yesterday?” he asked with threat and challenge in his voice. 

Even if Len wanted to confess the hurt to a willing ear, he didn’t want that to be Lisa, couldn’t bear to see her pity him any more than she already was, and it couldn’t be Mick. Mick would want to kill Barry for what he’d done. Too black and white about everything— _if he hurts you, he dies_. As much as Len wanted to see the kid suffer, he didn’t want that. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Len said, slow and firm and direct. He shook off his urgency long enough to stare each of them down and make sure they understood. “Bad idea all around, just like you warned me, Mick. It’s over. This has nothing to do with that. Scudder got the diamond, and Flash interrupted our fun getting the rest of the loot, so now we’re making up for it. Simple as that.”

“Bullshit,” Lisa shook her head. “You want to hit him while he’s down. Something happened, and now you want to hurt him for hurting you. That doesn’t sound like anything’s over, Lenny. Just that you’re upset and not thinking enough to plan anything with a clear head. So if you want my help, you’re gonna have to tell me a helluva lot more.”

 _No._ If Len stopped to talk about it, to think about, he’d lose the momentum of his anger, and he wasn’t ready to face what lay beneath it. That’s why he hadn’t slept. Every time he closed his eyes, the grief started to choke him. The only way he could hold himself together was to push forward and break Barry down until all the power was Len’s again. Until he won. Until he was back on top and couldn’t be toppled again. Then he would feel better. Then the pain would get overshadowed by satisfaction and victory, and he could move on. 

Len turned to Mick. “Mick, you gonna help me or stand there?”

Lisa scoffed in offence at being ignored. 

But Mick scowled harder and shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. You wanna cause a little mayhem, pal, I’m with ya.”

“ _Mick_ ,” Lisa chastised him, but he’d already moved around the table to look over Len’s shoulder. 

“Your services are no longer required for this one, Lisa,” Len said as he returned to making his plans. The night guard took a break at 10PM which would give Len and Mick the perfect window to get in, get across the floorplan to the paintings, and bust out of the south wall to create some chaos before they took their leave. 

“Lenny…don’t do this,” Lisa said plaintively, disrupting his focus again and making him clench his fists to keep from snapping at her. Len couldn’t give in; he couldn’t look up and see the pleading in her eyes. “Did he really do something so awful to earn this? Or are you reading too much into things like you always do, assuming he doesn’t care when he obviously—”

“You don’t know _anything_ about this,” Len snarled, looking up but only at the edge of the table, not at her, not at her. “He doesn’t care. And neither do I. Caring isn’t part of the equation, Lisa. This is just a heist.” 

The short huff of air that left her was sharp and disbelieving and so very sad. “I don’t know anything about this, you’re right. But if you won’t tell me, then I’m gonna find out.” Her voice dropped lower, softer. “You’ve been so happy, Lenny…”

A chill ran through Len, but he was used to that feeling. He’d perfected that feeling. In instilling it in others. In how to weather it himself. He didn’t shiver. Didn’t give any outward sign that he felt anything at all. He channeled his anger and let it burn inside of him to war against any encroaching chill. He was cold. And he was hard. And he would not be moved by Barry Allen; he was going to _ruin_ Barry and pull himself back up from how he’d fallen stronger than ever. 

“You want me to be happy, sis?” he said, looking at her finally but keeping his expression stern. “Then help me pull this off in twenty-four hours.” 

Lisa tore her eyes away from him like he was the biggest damn idiot in the world. Maybe he was—he definitely was. But he was still going to go through with his plan. It was the only thing keeping him from icing the entire safehouse and losing his god damn mind.

He turned back to the blueprints, and when Lisa stormed off and slammed the safehouse door behind her, he told himself he’d make it up to her later. 

He took a breath. “Okay, Mick. Here’s how it’s gonna go down.” 

XXXXX

Barry didn’t feel the surge of panic he expected. As he stared at the photograph of him and Snart kissing, and heard Captain Singh’s words ring in his ears, all he felt was cold. All he felt was numb. 

“Allen? Do you have anything to say to this?” Singh asked. 

Barry sat back in his chair. “No, sir.” 

“No?” Singh glowered at him and reached forward to tap the picture pointedly. “I’m looking at evidence that you know the whereabouts of a known fugitive who escaped custody under murder charges.” 

“Which was possibly self-defense,” Barry said dead-panned. “He hadn’t been convicted yet.” 

“He’s still a fugitive!” Singh gaped at him. “You could be connected to aiding and abetting any of the crimes he’s committed since—”

“There’s no evidence he’s committed any crimes since his escape.” 

“Allen…”

“And no remaining records of his previous crimes.”

“Are you—?” Singh stopped himself as if he was about to erupt at Barry, but he didn’t pause to calm himself down. He stood from his seat and leaned over the desk menacingly. “Are you admitting to falsifying those records? Are you admitting responsibility for why thirty years of records on one of the most well-known criminals in this city up and disappeared?” 

Barry returned Singh’s stare unflinchingly. “No, sir.” Technically, Cisco had done the dirty work.

“Well, it’s not looking good for you right now, Allen.” He leaned back but didn’t sit. His fierce expression held a shadow of that disappointment from before. “You have no idea how much I wanted this to be a fake, but that’s not the case, is it? There’s going to be a full investigation. You’re looking at jail time, do you realize that? Which you might, _might_ escape if you give up where this picture was taken and tell us where he is, but it won’t save your job.”

A few weeks ago, a small vindictive part of Barry might have just told Singh, but he felt no urge to do that now. Besides, he knew where that would lead. If he gave up Snart’s address, Snart would just reveal Barry’s identity as The Flash. He was trapped. And Snart knew he would be trapped. 

“Still nothing to say?” Singh asked. 

“No, sir.”

Singh collapsed back into his chair. “What were you thinking, Allen? There are records of you visiting him at Iron Heights. There’s already IA in your lab, looking through everything. Right now, no one other than me and a handful of Internal Affairs officers know, but something like this isn’t going to be easy to keep quiet. Just tell me…if he has something on you, if he’s extorting—”

“ _No_.” Barry shook his head mournfully. “It wasn’t like that.” It _was_ …but it wasn’t. Snart holding over him that he knows Barry’s identity as The Flash had nothing to do with them sleeping together, with them coming to care about each other. Barry deserved this. He couldn’t even be angry at Snart for the low blow of sending in the photograph, because he’d brought this all down on himself. 

For a rare, brief moment, Singh lost his anger and disapproval completely, and just looked defeated. “Give me something to help you, Allen. You’re the best we got. I refuse to believe you’d throw that all away just to help some two-bit thief get away with his crimes. Even if you never altered evidence, if it’s just a bad call with who you slept with some Saturday night…give me something I can work with.”

Barry had never doubted that Singh was a good man, a good officer who honestly cared about this city and its people. Now, he was trying to offer Barry a lifeline he didn’t deserve. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have anything to say.”

The anger and hardness returned to Singh’s expression. He snatched up the photograph and closed it up inside the folder. “Get out of here. You can collect personal items from the lab, but the officers in there are going to check everything you try to walk out of here with. And they’re going to have questions for you, so don’t even think about leaving town.”

Barry nodded, got up, and walked in a daze out of Singh’s office and slowly to his lab, feeling colder and emptier with every step. It wasn’t really hitting him how much his life would change from this. If he served time. Even if he didn’t. Unless he could prove it was all a lie, which he couldn’t and didn’t want to, his career was over. 

He reached the lab and found two officers from IA rifling through his things. He knew one of them. Lieutenant Choi. He was a nice guy usually. Loud, but friendly. Always open to telling stories to anyone willing to listen. He’d never been one of the officers to shy away from Barry, like so many others. Now he cast Barry an icy, calculating stare. 

“Have a seat, Allen. When we’re through, you can get what you need, but we’ll have to check your bag too.”

Barry nodded impassively. He had no intention of fighting any of this. He sat off to the side while they continued ransacking his office. Not messily or spitefully, just mechanical and thorough, no softening of any blows because in this situation, Barry was the enemy. If they were the officers working the investigation, then they already knew about the picture. 

It was maybe ten minutes later and they were just about ready to finish going through his desk when Joe stormed in. He must have followed Barry out of the house. Singh was right on his heels. 

“What the hell is going on?” he barked at Choi and the other officer. 

“Detective…” Singh said in warning. “You can’t—”

“Sir,” Choi called from Barry’s desk, having opened up the last drawer in the desk, the bottom drawer where Barry had…

 _Oh no_. Barry sat up straighter as Choi dumped the plastic evidence bag with Snart’s comms in it on top of the desk. He hadn’t thought it would matter, was too preoccupied to come back for the comms during the week like he’d planned and dispose of them. Sitting there these past ten minutes, it hadn’t dawned on him that something that could easily lead them right to Snart existed in plain view. 

Barry didn’t care that it clinched his own downfall, but if they were able to trace the comms…

“Allen, why was this evidence not correctly catalogued with everything else from the museum case last Monday night?” Choi asked with a hard look as he inspected the catalog ID and held the bag up. 

They were all staring at Barry. He couldn’t look at any of them, so he just turned his gaze to the floor. “Because I was hiding it. I had no intention of processing that piece of evidence.”

“Barry…” Joe said in disbelief, as he no doubt began to piece together what was happening. Singh, the IA officers, the stashed evidence. Barry was caught red handed as crooked, he was going down for it, and no one could do anything about it. 

“Go home, Allen,” Singh said, practically seething. “Joe, you can’t be a part of this—”

“Sir,” the other officer with Choi spoke up. “We still need to look through Allen’s bag before he leaves.”

Singh sighed. “Then we’ll do it now. Get up, Allen.”

Barry felt like a slide under a microscope—exposed and at the mercy of the others. He handed over his bag and stepped back. They went through everything, but there was nothing to find. Not there. Barry realized they would go through his pockets next, and thought of his cell phone. There was more than enough on his phone that pointed to him as The Flash, to other people’s identities as well, and their involvement with STAR Labs. His friends, everyone would be at risk. 

He caught Joe’s eye as he backed up a step. Joe looked so betrayed, which Barry knew would just get worse once he learned what had started all of this, but Joe didn’t hesitate to keep Singh distracted, while the IA officers worked, and Barry took the next moment when no eyes were on him to use his powers and stash his phone by the exit. 

When they were done with his bag, they went through his pockets. 

“Where’s your cell phone, Allen?” Choi asked. 

“Didn’t bring it.”

Choi looked at him skeptically. 

“I was only planning to stop in for a few minutes. I forgot it at home.”

“You know it’ll go smoother for you if you hand it over now,” the other officee said. “It won’t make anything better if you make us get a warrant, and we won’t have any trouble doing that after the evidence we’ve found so far.”

“It’s not on me, I swear. You just checked. You can search my house; you’ll find it there.” 

They both still looked unconvinced, but there wasn’t any more they could do. “You can’t prevent us from looking into your phone records, Allen,” Choi said, “so don’t try anything stupid in the meantime.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Get out of here,” Singh practically threw Barry’s bag back at him. “You’ll know when they’re ready with questions, or to search your premises. I don’t want to see your face in here until you’re requested. Do you got that?”

“Yes, sir,” Barry said, and turned immediately to leave with Joe. He glanced back, and as soon as he had a moment where Singh and the IA were all looking away, he flashed his cell phone back into his pocket. 

Barry had only a brief reprieve while leaving the station and getting into Joe’s car to head home. He took out his phone, called Cisco, and explained in no uncertain terms that he didn’t have time to tell Cisco what had happened yesterday, because they had an emergency. He needed Cisco to remotely wipe all of his text messages and calls that could point back to him being The Flash, or incriminate anyone else. IA were going to be looking at his phone soon; they didn’t have much time. 

“Yeah, Barry, you know I can do that. But what happened?”

“I’ll tell you later, Cisco. Just…make sure there’s nothing they can use to get anyone else in trouble.”

Barry thought the hardest part would be coming clean to Joe as soon as he hung up. The sharp stare and tight purse to Joe’s lips as they drove, the purposeful silence waiting for Barry to just speak. But what made it worse was that even after Barry explained, no tip-toeing around it—“The Captain has a photograph of me kissing Leonard Snart. We’ve been sleeping together for almost a month, and now they know I hid evidence for him”—Joe’s ranting back at him was still in full swing by the time they got home and Barry pushed on into the house. 

Joe wasn’t even yelling, just hurt and disappointed as the words tumbled out of him without ceasing, which only made it worse. Barry was so tired of being a disappointment to everyone. He couldn’t dismiss any of Joe’s accusations, either, because it was all true. Barry had fucked up worse than ever before. 

“Once they prove that picture is authentic, even if they didn’t have other evidence, which they do, the second they close the investigation, they’re coming to arrest you,” Joe said as he shut the door behind them with more force than necessary. “Four years jail time for felony harboring. Not to mention hiding evidence.”

Barry laid a hand on the back of the couch to steady himself before slowly turning to face Joe. “Technically—”

“Oh give it a rest, Barry,” Joe shook his head. “It’s over. You can’t protect him or yourself. Why would you throw your life away for Leonard Snart?” 

Barry heard a familiar intake of breath from Iris before Wally’s voice followed it, “What? _What_ about Snart?”

He and Iris had just come out of the kitchen. Iris must have come over after Barry and Joe left. Of course they were both there. Of course they’d overheard. Of course everything had to erupt into the open all at once before Barry could get a handle on how his entire life was unraveling. 

He leaned against the back of the couch, Joe at his right in front of the door, Wally and Iris walking in from the kitchen at his left, making him feel surrounded and suffocated. “Why, Joe? Why would I sleep with Leonard Snart and risk losing my job?” Barry said, no longer caring about keeping secrets, even as Iris and Wally’s mouths fell open in shock. 

His secrets had been laid bare, and he was going to pay for each and every one of them. 

“Because it felt good, that’s why. Because _he_ felt so good,” Barry said, staring forward at nothing as he remembered the past several weeks and everything he had lost. “Because I love him. I _love_ him. He was worth the risk, any risk. And I ruined everything.”

A moment of stunned silence passed before Iris asked, “ _Snart’s_ the man you’ve been seeing?”

“You knew about this?” Joe snapped. 

She frowned at him, but didn’t say anything more. 

Barry had trouble looking any of them in the eyes, so he kept his gaze unfocused. “When it started, I only slept with him to mess with him. To have a good time to distract myself from everything going wrong in my life, so I could get a laugh out of throwing him away when he fell for me. He found out I was using him. I fell _in love_ with him and changed my mind about hurting him like that, but now he knows it started as a lie, and he hates me for it.” 

“So he’s going to ruin your life?” Joe growled.

“I don’t care.” Barry pushed away from the sofa. 

“Barry—”

“I don’t care!” He whirled on Joe, angry and ashamed and so exhausted. “How am I supposed to fight this, Joe? The picture he sent to the Captain is real. I did stash that evidence. Not because he asked, but because I wanted to. To protect him. I know where he is, and I’m not going to tell them. I’m guilty.”

“You could still turn him over and save yourself.” Joe stepped forward. “If he sent that picture to Singh then you don’t owe him anything.”

 _But I do_. “He knows I’m The Flash. He’ll—”

“Why should they believe him? We can—”

“I’m not doing that, Joe. I’m not fighting this.” Barry shook his head as he pushed forward to the landing of the stairs and clung to the banister.

Every day he was a bigger and bigger danger to everyone. Even Wally had accepted Barry into his life when Barry was the reason several times over that Wally’s life had been at risk. The same was true for all of them. For every time he’d saved them, he’d also been the reason they needed saving. Now the same was true for Snart—in a deep, personal way that Barry could never fix. And Scudder…if he targeted Snart too...

Barry wished he could stay away from them. Wished he could disappear and save all of them the trouble he caused. Maybe this would be better. He knew they all loved him. Knew they’d put up with whatever they had to. But he also knew that he’d always be a burden, and he’d rather keep them safe from the real monster.

“You’re willing to go to jail for him?” Joe said with distaste on his tongue, but Snart wasn’t the one he should be cursing. Barry was the bad guy. Barry was the problem.

He stared up the stairs, keeping Joe behind him, and avoiding Iris or Wally’s stares as he said, “Maybe I deserve it.”

“Barry…”

Barry headed up the stairs, ignoring any pleas that followed him. He could have used his powers to zip away faster and lock his door to shut them all out, but he didn’t have the strength. He trudged up to his room slowly and went to sit amidst the tangled mess of covers on his unmade bed.

Before he’d had even a minute to sulk alone, a gentle knock came at his partially open door. Barry knew without looking up that it was Iris. He still couldn’t look at her. Once again, he’d kept something from his best friend, not for her sake, but to protect himself. 

He sat with his hands folded resting between his legs, and stared at them as she crossed the room and sat beside him. She didn’t say anything for several moments, just reached over and placed her hand over his. 

Barry didn’t feel like crying anymore. He didn’t feel like anything. But the touch of her hand and her presence at his hip still made him feel better. He didn’t deserve to feel better, and as that thought swirled through his mind, he almost pulled his hands away. 

“You really love him,” Iris said, soft and without questioning or judgment. “He sent a photo of you two to Captain Singh?”

“He’s just doing this because he’s hurt,” Barry headed off any chance she had to make Snart out to be the be the bad guy. “He’s not like you think. And I know that probably sounds like I’m more messed up than usual, because he’s hurt people, killed people…but so has Oliver. Len’s better than all that, he is.” 

Part of Barry had thought that maybe he’d helped coax some of that goodness out of Snart. Maybe he’d helped remind him that he didn’t have to be violent to get what he wanted, but the goodness had always been there. As much as Snart threatened people, he also cared about them and his city. Barry didn’t believe anymore that Snart would have actually hurt Cisco, or Dante, or Caitlin. He always had a plan, and he’d made sure that anyone innocent always had a way out. 

Maybe Barry was messed up for thinking that was enough. Snart had still killed people. He’d still done terrible things. But again, so had Oliver. Was it really so different if both of them were striving to be better?

“If he’s worth all this, Barry…then why aren’t you fighting for him?”

Barry blinked at the sudden words as if a haze had been lifted. He turned to look at Iris, who still held her hand atop his and leaned comfortingly against his side. She looked back at him as if he was worth everything. It was the look, honestly, that had made Barry fall in love with her. That unabashed affection that used to make him feel good and strong like he could face any hurdle in his path. 

But he didn’t feel that way today. 

“I want to,” he said. “I tried to. But he won’t listen. He knows I lied, so he thinks it was _all_ a lie. I don’t know how I could ever make this up to him, ever get him to trust me again or look at me like…” He closed his eyes because it was too painful to remember what he’d never get to have again. “Maybe the only way, even if he never understands or forgives me, is to let him do this. Let him win. Take what’s coming and pay for what I’ve done.”

“Barry…” Iris’s brow scrunched with worry and dissention when he opened his eyes to look at her, but even as she seemed about to protest, her mouth opened and fell closed again with a defeated sigh before she finally spoke. “The way you talked about him, Barry, before I knew it was Snart, I get now why you didn’t believe it could ever be more than just…sex and convenience. But it obviously became more than that for both of you. I don’t know what to tell you now. I don’t know what the right answer is. All I know is that Central City needs The Flash. And I need Barry Allen. If they put you away…”

Barry cringed as he saw all the pain he was causing her because of his own selfish needs and desires. “I’m sorry, Iris…”

She smiled at him sadly, and removed her hand finally only to reach for him and pull him against her into an embrace. “Don’t be sorry, Barry,” she said into his shoulder. “Just tell me. What do you need?”

The first thought that crossed Barry’s mind was _Len_. And that no one and nothing other than him was the first thing on Barry’s mind only made it hurt so much worse. 

Barry needed sleep. He needed food. He needed time to think about how he’d handle all of this, if he handled it at all or just let it happen. He needed to think about Scudder, and how everyone he cared about was still at risk, including Snart. He needed to take it all one step at a time, but there was too much, it was too much. 

So he thought about today and everything that had happened. The comms. IA had them, and even if they kept quiet about where the comms had been when they turned them over, they’d still run them immediately through the rest of the CSI team to trace where they’d come from. Barry was good, but so were the others at the precinct. If they traced any of the parts to Snart’s neighborhood, so many other people would get pulled into this. 

“I need to call Len,” Barry said as he squeezed Iris once more and let her go. “There’s evidence that could lead the police to where he lives. I have to warn him.” 

“Won’t IA check your phone records?” she asked. 

“They will. Cisco’s going to erase anything incriminating remotely. It’ll be harder to find any traces on my phone that way instead of me trying to delete things myself. And he can focus on Snart’s messages. He knows which number is his.” 

“He does, huh?” She cocked her head at him with a faint smile.

Barry’s stomach quivered for every lie he’d told lately, for all the things he’d kept from her. “Cisco overheard…I didn’t _tell_ him…”

“Barry, it’s okay,” she said, smiling wider to offer him reprieve. “I get that there are some things you won’t be able to share with me. But you always can. I need you to know that. If Snart’s really worth all this, then sometime soon, I want to hear all about him. Okay?” She patted his hand one last time, but didn’t wait for Barry’s response before she stood and exited the room to leave him his privacy while he called Snart. She even shut the door behind her, and no immediate knocks came to signal that Wally or Joe were coming in to take their turns. 

Good. Barry appreciated everything all of them had done, and everything they likely would do, once Joe got over his initial shock and anger toward Barry being with Snart at all. But right now Barry needed to be alone. 

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Snart’s number.

XXXXX

After finishing going over the rough plan with Mick to hit the museum, Len had left some of the more crucial elements to their preparation in Mick’s hands and headed home. He should rest. Eat something. Plan out further contingencies if things went sour. But first he wanted to finalize a few of the more delicate pieces to the plan. The _icing_ on the cake, as it were. The simple but crucial elements that would hit Barry low and hard. 

Len stood before his closet with an appraising eye on his wardrobe just as his phone began to ring. He frowned, thinking it might be Mick already hitting a wall with the heist, or Lisa trying to weasel more information out of him and talk him out of doing this. But no. 

The name ‘Scarlet’ blinked at Len from his display. 

He grinned even as a cold twinge settled in his gut. Singh would have reprimanded Barry by now. Kid was probably spiraling in his haste to cover things up, to make it all go away and save himself the grief. Len couldn’t have that.

“Something I can help you with, Barry?” he answered smugly. He sat down on his bed to keep from pacing—and to keep his knees from shaking too much with the anticipation of hearing Barry’s voice. 

“I’m just calling to try to help you.”

Oh that was rich. Len sneered into the phone, “Think you got a bargaining chip, do you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m trying to warn you. Sending that picture meant IA went through my office. It might take a few days, but they’ll be headed right for you.” He sounded urgent, but still oddly monotone. Probably to hide the shred of panic settling in.

Len’s hand trembled as he clutched his phone. “Actually gave me up, huh?”

“ _No_. Len, listen to me. They found your comms in my bottom drawer.”

The comms. Len hadn’t followed up with Hartley to find out what had become of them, he’d just assumed it had been taken care of. He was such a fool. “And here I thought you’d put them aside to protect me, that you’d destroy them or give them back. But you were just hanging onto them to have something to use against me later.”

“No, I…” Barry’s voice broke, cracked as he trailed off. “I was going to give them back to you, I just…forgot.”

Len huffed a jagged laugh. He honestly didn’t know if he could tell when Barry was being truthful. He used to think he could easily read whether or not the kid was spouting lies, but he’d been swindled anyway. At least it made it easier now not to listen to him. Anything Barry said was just another attempt to sway him, to con him, and get him under his heel. Len wouldn’t allow that. 

“Treachery or stupidity, huh? Which is worse? I’m not worried. Let them come. If all they get is the neighborhood, then the only person who needs to be worried is you.” Len let the smile enter his voice as he sat there and tried to picture Barry’s face twisted with resentment. “Jail time will be good for you, Barry. Assuming you don’t run for it, of course. You are so very good at that.”

The line was so quiet on the other end, Len could hear Barry breathing, a shuddery inhale of breath filled with emotion that once might have made Len waver. There was no anger or indignation in Barry’s tone when he spoke again. Only defeat. “I know. You’re right. Running is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. But I think this time I’m going to take what I’ve got coming.” 

The smile drained from Len’s face. He couldn’t listen to these lies. It was just a ploy to make him feel pity, to make him relent. Barry didn’t care about Len; he only cared about saving himself. When the time came, he wouldn’t pay the piper. He’d show his true colors again, and Len would stand tall as he watched Barry fall hard from his pedestal. 

“Len…?” Barry prompted softly when Len didn’t respond. 

His wounded voice did not make Len’s breath catch. It did not make his eyes feel hot. It did not make him wish he could touch the kid and ease his suffering. It did not. 

Len pulled the phone away from his face so Barry wouldn’t hear how much of an effort it took to simply breathe. He was fine. He was _fine_. He’d be fine…

“What do you want, Barry?” Len spoke coldly when he brought the phone back to his ear. 

Barry’s voice was gentle as he said, “Nothing. I know you don’t believe me. I know you never will. But I really am sorry. For everything.”

The click of the line going dead before Len could respond made him gasp, because he’d expected Barry to plead a better case than that, to at least wait for his response, not to give in so easily and leave him hanging. Maybe that was the game this time, to really make Len believe that Barry mourned what he’d taken from them. But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Barry deserved what he had coming. If Len gave in now, the kid would just get exactly what he wanted. 

No. _No._ The truth would come out. Barry wasn’t going to jail. He’d never allow that. He was the fastest man alive with practically unlimited resources between Cisco’s abilities and his good friend Oliver Queen. They’d find some way out of it, Len was certain. And it would all go back to normal—hero against villain. Barry sneering at Len as he threatened to put him away while never having the guts to do it, because he’d never allow the public to learn his secret. 

Barry had no interest in doing right by Len if it meant paying for his crimes. He was just looking to bring back the fair weather of an easy lay. Once Len pulled off another heist, and lured The Flash out into the open again, the real Barry would be there and the last of the ruse would fall away. Len just needed to see it. He needed to watch the moment when Barry’s mask broke and he couldn’t pretend anymore. 

Len wasn’t needlessly cruel. He didn’t need to physically harm Barry. He would never go after the people Barry cared about. He’d played that card as far as he could without delivering on his threats, and those kinds of threats he never wanted to deliver on. They were just a means to an end. This time the means was the heist, and the end would be seeing Barry’s grand façade as the untouchable hero crumble away into dust. 

Len threw his phone aside and stood from the bed. He took a breath, willing the warmth lingering in his eyes to go away. Slowly, he returned to the closet and pulled out his cerulean button-down, a black tie, and his best black suit, vest and all. Three pieces was what Barry had asked for, for Len’s next heist, and this time he planned to deliver. 

Tomorrow night Len would drive the knife that much deeper and rid himself of wanting Barry Allen once and for all.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not going to get easier for a while yet, so...bear with me, folks. You are the best, and again, your comments are amazing for inspiring me to write. I just can't say enough how appreciative I am of every single word, you just...get me close to tears sometimes, guys, which I realize is sort of payment for making you all cry, right? ;-)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len moves forward with his heist, while Barry is ready to accept his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blown away by how much you guys are enjoying this, your kind comments, and just that you're even putting up with this angstfest. It'll continue to hurt for a while, but it will get better. I promise. 
> 
> A few of you have any made some guesses that are spot on! But of course I can't tell you which ones of you that is. ;-)

Barry had the rest of Sunday to wallow and think about what he wanted at the end of this. What he _really_ wanted he couldn’t have, so he kept weighing his options between fighting the IA investigation and just letting it happen. 

Right now it was only a picture and a misplaced piece of evidence on a case that The Flash himself said was the fault of Sam Scudder, which was the only reason Barry hadn’t been arrested already. Still, if he didn’t give Snart up, it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t find anything else. He’d lose his job. They’d likely press charges. It was over.

He wondered how easy it might be to phase out of his cell at night to still do his rounds as The Flash, while also serving his sentence, and laughed a little hysterically at the thought. Which made him think of his dad, of finally calling him and telling him everything that had been going on, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure what would happen next. 

After Barry hung up his call with Snart, he’d stayed in his room a while before finally going downstairs to get something for lunch. Joe was calmer, which only made him seem sadder, more disappointed, and Barry hated that—that he’d dragged all of them down with him. 

“Just can’t believe so much was happening that you didn’t tell me, Barry,” Joe said. And eventually, after much discussion about Barry’s options with IA, “Please don’t do this, son.” 

But Barry had already done it. He’d earned what was happening. “I have to own up to my responsibilities, Joe.”

“What about your responsibilities to this family? To this city?”

“I’ll think about it,” Barry said, if only to keep Joe from badgering him. It would be so easy to make it all go away, either by having Cisco help him futz with the evidence, using his powers to manipulate things, or even just simply handing Snart over and making a deal with the CCPD. But that wasn’t an option. None of it was. 

Wally was quiet like he didn’t feel right getting involved, but once there was nothing more to talk about other than rehashing the same topics again, Wally pulled Barry aside.

“Hey, wanna brainstorm about Mirror Master now? I got some ideas I was working out, if you wanna hear ‘em.”

How could Barry refuse that genuine enthusiasm to help? Even if Barry did allow himself to be put away, he couldn’t very well leave the city at the mercy of Scudder. 

They sat at the dining room table pouring over Wally’s laptop, while Joe and Iris remained in the living room for most of the afternoon, talking in hushed tones—Barry assumed about him, but he pushed all that from his mind. 

He explained Cisco’s fogged up window trick to Wally, which still needed a proper name, but also that it was limited, something they’d need to setup somewhere beforehand, not carry around offensively. Which was when Barry remembered that Scudder could very well be watching them from any number of reflections right that moment, so he and Wally switched to typing, carrying on a silent discussion as they worked up basic schematics for a potential trap. 

If they chose a place Scudder couldn’t resist, somewhere teaming with reflections, and lured him there, somehow got him out into the open and turned on Cisco’s program before he could escape through another reflection, they’d have him. Of course, while luring Scudder to a collection of mirrors might prove easy enough, luring him out of the safety of a reflection wouldn’t be. 

It was late afternoon when Choi and Anderson, the other IA officer, stopped by the house. This wasn’t a full-on crime scene to investigate, they just needed to look around for anything incriminating, confiscate anything of Barry’s that could aid in the investigation, which at this point was all voluntary unless Barry pushed for them to get a warrant. He didn’t. He had nothing to hide in the house other than his cell phone, which was safe now. Cisco had texted him hours ago.

_Finished that pie you asked for._

_Pie?_

_Yeah you know, for Scarlet._

Barry quickly got with the program. Cisco couldn’t exactly text him, _Finished erasing all of that evidence you asked me to get rid of._

_Thanks, Cisco._

_Yeah, man, any time. You need to come by so you can have some._

_Tomorrow, I promise._

Now the officers were there, going through Barry’s room. It caused a resurgence of that awful numb feeling, as he remained sitting at the table with Wally to stay out of the officers’ way. 

Wally reached over and gently gripped his arm. He gave Barry that patented West smile that said without words, _It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We’re here for you._

Barry just felt guiltier that Wally had to put up with this when all he’d wanted was the family he’d been denied. Once again Barry was a disruption to that. A cancer in someone else’s life. A poison.

Even if IA hadn’t taken Barry’s cell phone, he wouldn’t have been able to talk to anyone about anything important. He made sure Cisco messaged Team Arrow not to use Barry’s phone to contact him any time soon, but Barry made him promise he wouldn’t tell them why. Barry didn’t expect Snart to attempt to contact him either. Maybe ever.

He didn’t realize he hadn’t taken any of his pills that day until he was lying in bed trying to sleep. When midnight crept past, he took two. It had been 24 hours. It didn’t matter. 

He slept hard until almost 10am, and realized how sluggish he was when he woke up after not eating enough the past few days. He ate a large breakfast, mixed half with lunch since it was so late, and headed to the Labs.

Caitlin and Cisco practically accosted him the second he stepped into the cortex.

“Barry! Dude, we so got ya covered,” Cisco said as he bounded toward Barry with a tablet in hand. 

The fogging device was already on, probably always on now, making everything look matte and close-quartered. Caitlin walked over more slowly with an exasperated smile at Cisco as he continued on in full rant mode. 

“Getting rid of the photo will be cake. If you use your speed to snatch it before they run authentication, I can make it look doctored in less than fifteen minutes. As for Cold’s comms—”

“How do you already know everything?” Barry sputtered as he looked at Cisco’s tablet that appeared to have an evidence photo of the comms proudly displayed.

“Please,” Cisco tucked some of his hair behind his ear, “like hacking into IA records was a challenge. Now, all we need to do about—”

“Cisco, stop,” Barry took the tablet out of his hands, “I’m not doing any of that. I don’t want you to save me from this. I only had you wipe my phone to protect everyone else. If that photo and hiding evidence leads to putting me away for a while…maybe that’s the best thing.”

“What?” Cisco snagged the tablet back from him. “What are you saying?”

“Barry…” Caitlin spoke up.

“Don’t try to talk me out of it.” Barry pushed past them to lean against one of the desks. “I’ve already been through this with Joe and Iris. I’ve made up my mind. And don’t tell me to turn Snart over to the police, either.”

“ _Barry_ ,” Caitlin said more insistently as she stepped closer to him, “we weren’t going to say that. We’ve been talking and…” She sighed faintly as she glanced at Cisco, who looked mildly guilty. “Why didn’t you tell me this was so much more than just you and Snart sleeping together?”

Barry sagged heavily into the desk beneath him. He fought to offer Cisco a twitch of a smile, because he wasn’t angry; he just couldn’t seem to keep any secrets anymore. “It doesn’t matter. He hates me now.”

While Caitlin looked at him with downturned eyebrows, Cisco set the tablet aside and stepped up next to her. “But what if he didn’t?” 

“Cisco—” 

“Barry, _what if he didn’t?_ Because he doesn’t. You know he doesn’t. He’s just mad, right? And doesn’t think he can trust you. But he doesn’t hate you. He wants to hate you, but he doesn’t _really_ , and none of this means you should hate yourself. Look…” Cisco shifted his eyes to Caitlin and her curious expression made it clear that what he was about to say hadn’t been shared with her yet. “Lisa called me yesterday.” He waited for a judgmental frown but Caitlin just rolled her eyes as if she should have seen this coming.

It might have been funny if Barry didn’t know where Cisco was going with this. “You didn’t.”

“I uhh…may have told her everything,” Cisco confessed, hunched and small like he’d looked a year ago when confessing that he’d given up Barry’s identity. “Not that you’re The Flash!” he added, knowing exactly where Barry’s mind had gone. “But everything I know about you and Snart.”

“Great,” Barry said, sinking further into the desk and that horrible numb feeling that was seeping into his bones, “now she hates me too.”

“But she doesn’t!” Cisco surged forward, only to pull back and tuck another sheaf of hair behind his ear. “Okay maybe she does a little. But only because she was pissed at first and said she needed to think about how to respond. But she also said there was something she needed to tell me. Said her brother was out of his mind since the whole blowup with you two, not thinking clearly, and probably going to do something stupid. 

“He’s _Cold_. He doesn’t do anything small. But he just needs time. He wouldn’t be this upset if he didn’t care about you, Barry. You can’t hang up the cowl and let yourself take the fall for everything that happened just because you had a bad breakup.” 

Barry shook his head. He’d heard every argument about why he should fight this, but he was too undeserving, too fractured and weary. “None of that matters. I’m not going to get a few weeks to let Snart cool down and decide if he wants to stop hating me. At most I have a week before IA closes the investigation. If I don’t give Snart up, they’re going to press charges. I can’t outrun this. All I can do is face it.” 

“What about Scudder?” Caitlin asked neutrally, her expression tight but difficult to read. 

“I’ll do everything I can to help the team catch him,” Barry said. “Wally and I came up with some ideas. If I have to flash out of prison to bring Scudder in, so be it, but only if I’m needed. I’m done saving myself.”

The phrase seemed to resonate around them with a chilling clang and lingering echo. Neither Cisco nor Caitlin said anything for a few moments, while Barry stared down at his hands. 

“Okay, Barry,” Caitlin finally said, “but in case you change your mind before it’s too late, we’re still going to be ready to get you out of this.”

Barry shook his head again, but before he could protest, Cisco picked up where she’d left off. 

“You can’t stop us from wanting to help you, Barry. You don’t want to accept that help, fine, but even if you really believe you don’t deserve to be saved, we’re still always going to be there to save you _for_ you. Or…something like that,” he scrunched his face when Barry looked at him. “That sounded much smoother in my head. But you know what I mean!” He flashed a heartfelt, earnest smile. “We’re here for you. Always.”

Caitlin smiled at Barry just as supportively. And damn, did it sting. It stung how much they continued to believe in him when he knew he wasn’t worth it. 

“Guys…”

“Now, back to Scudder,” Cisco said before Barry could protest the wall of protection they’d surrounded him with. “You tell us what you and Wally came up with—and sweet, is he like the unofficial team mascot now, because we could seriously use some additional minds on this, and a cheerleader—and we’ll tell you what we found out about that fiber.”

“Fiber?” Barry perked up. “The fiber from the museum? You got a hit on it?”

“We think so,” Caitlin broke in. “We don’t know yet if it will give us any leads to help find Scudder, but it’s definitely interesting.” 

Ignoring the elephant in the room for now revolving around Barry’s impending legal doom, Cisco and Caitlin led him over to one of the monitors. Cisco sat at the desk and began pulling up newspaper articles from around the time the Particle Accelerator blew. 

“Scudder was known as more of a homebody before the explosion,” Caitlin explained. “He rarely left Central City, only to Keystone occasionally, which is where we’re guessing he was during his time away. So going off of the assumption that he wouldn’t have gone too far to get what he needed for his suit, and assuming he’d avoid online transactions since he’s smart enough not to want to leave a paper trail, we figured we’d see if there was anything in Central at the time of the explosion that could explain an outside source for the fiber.”

“Like what? A traveling fabric salesman?” Barry couldn’t help snorting.

“More like traveling _circus_ ,” Cisco said as he brought up a particular article and several ads for the circus that had been in town during the dates around the explosion. “And guess what type of fabric they used for some of their performers?”

Barry couldn’t help but return Cisco’s triumphant smile. “Milliskin matte in bright orange?” 

“Bingo.” Cisco made another keystroke and an ad for the circus’ acrobatic group popped up—all in orange suits similar to Scudder’s. 

“So he has something to do with the circus?” Barry asked. 

“We checked,” Caitlin shook her head, “no connections we could find.”

“One circus freak in our Rogues gallery is enough, thanks,” Cisco said, no doubt thinking of The Trickster’s old lair. 

“But we’re guessing he was there,” Caitlin continued. “That’s how he got his suit.”

“What happened to the circus? Did it get destroyed during the blast? Is it still there?”

“It moved on,” Cisco held up a hand before Barry could spout any more questions. “There aren’t any standing structures where it was set up. But there could be. See, I was thinking maybe that empty space where the circus was would make a good place for an ambush.”

Which was right along the lines Barry and Wally had been thinking. “My turn,” he said, and started to explain everything he and Wally had come up with using Cisco’s fogging device as the linchpin. 

“I got it!” Cisco spoke up at one point. “The Miasma Maker. Huh? Right?”

Barry and Caitlin shared a fond smile before continuing to discuss logistics. For a while, just talking shop, planning out ways they could lure and trap Scudder, Barry felt some of his normal self creep in—until he had to remember that he only had a few days left of freedom, and he deserved everything he had coming to him. 

“Barry, can I talk to you alone for a minute?” Caitlin asked, when Cisco dove into work mode around his Miasma Maker and getting something set up in Barry’s home, as well as building their eventual trap. 

Barry let Caitlin lead him away from the center of the cortex. They didn’t go far, just the edge of the room next to that pane of glass they’d had replaced after Barry’s first tantrum. It looked different frosted over, casting no reflections. As if everything started and ended there, and could swallow Barry whole. 

“Yeah, Caitlin, what is it? Please don’t try to talk me out of letting IA bring me in. I—”

“No, Barry,” she said, with that shaky smile and her downturned brows again. “You can make your own decisions about what to do with your life, and the consequences of your actions. But like Cisco and I said, if you change your mind…”

He sighed, but nodded so she’d leave things be. 

“I just wanted to ask if the pills were helping at all. We haven’t really discussed them since you started taking them. Have you been taking them?”

There seemed to be a trap in the question, or maybe that was just Barry’s paranoia around going against what she had told him to do. “Yeah, they, uhh…they help sometimes. One isn’t usually enough, but…they help. Help me sleep too, but that’s normal, right? Don’t people usually use anti-depressants as sleep aids?” 

“In smaller doses,” she said. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

 _Every night_. “Sometimes. It doesn’t matter. I think my metabolism burns through them too fast anyway. Or maybe I just can’t tell since I keep having legitimate things to feel awful about. How do I know if it’s depression or…just what I’ve earned?”

“Barry,” she said, and reached out to squeeze his arm. “No one earns feeling bad about themselves. No matter what they might have done. You’re trying to make things right. That’s what matters. That’s all anyone can ask of you. I wish you’d think of some other way to make up for the wrongs you’ve done, but…I understand. If you need to do this, or if you decide you need us to help you out of it, either way, we’re here. Okay?”

They’d seen him beat a meta human to a bloody pulp, nearly break another man’s arms, scream and yell and destroy things all around them, and they were still with him, at his side, no matter what. It wasn’t only because he was The Flash, he knew that now, but if there was something worth loving about Barry Allen that had all of them fooled, he didn’t know what that was. 

Barry opened his mouth to thank her, to maybe confess that he’d taken more of the pills than he should have a few times, but before he could open his mouth, “Cold Blooded” by The Pretty Reckless started playing from Cisco’s direction. Barry and Caitlin both turned curious eyes on him, as he paused mid-typing at the computer. 

“Uhhh…that might be my ringtone for Lisa,” he said. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, and looked at Barry and Caitlin as if asking permission. 

Caitlin chuckled, but Barry felt something heavy settle in his gut. He nodded at Cisco, equally anxious and terrified to find out what she had to say. 

“Hello?” Cisco answered with a touch too much questioning in his greeting. “Hi! Yeah, I…uhh…” His eyes darted to Barry, as he and Caitlin moved back toward him. “Yeah, he is, actually. You sure? Coz maybe I didn’t explain _everything_ … Uhh, yeah, yeah, no, I get it, I just…” he sighed heavily, “okay,” and held the phone out to Barry. 

Barry swallowed thickly before accepting it. “I’m here,” he said, holding the phone close.

“Good,” Lisa Snart’s voice came sharply from the other end. “Coz boy do I have some bones to pick with you, Flash. There I was yesterday giving Lenny a hard time about jumping to conclusions, only to hear the rundown from Cisco. And I almost, _almost_ said good riddance and left you to what Lenny’s planning…but how low you stooped with him doesn’t change how happy he was these past few weeks. Doesn’t change that Cisco seems pretty certain you’re an even bigger wreck than he is right now, beside yourself with guilt and grief because you realized how much you actually want him. And we both know Cisco can’t lie worth shit, so…I’m inclined to believe him. 

“I don’t need to hear you say you love my brother. I just need to know you won’t hurt him again. That you have his best interest in mind no matter how things go down, or where that leaves the two of you at the end of it. If he wants nothing more to do with you, you leave it. Understood?”

“Wasn’t planning on anything different,” Barry said plainly. “I wish I could make this up to him, Lisa, I mean that. But I know I can’t. So whatever he needs. Whatever I can do. I promise that’s all that matters to me now.”

Lisa remained silent for a moment, thinking, Barry assumed, debating if he was worth trusting, while Cisco and Caitlin both cast him reassuring glances. At long last, a drawn out sigh came over the line. “Fuck it,” she said. “I never thought anyone could be as shitty to him as you were, but I also can’t believe you meant to go through with a plan that cruel. So you hit rock bottom, Flash—congrats. But you pulled Lenny down with you, so now you are going to bring him back out of it.

“I don’t know the timeline, he cut me out of the planning when I demanded to know what happened between you two, but I know he’s going to hit Central City Museum tonight. He wants you to show up, so he’ll have something prepared. Don’t let him do anything stupid. Stop him, talk to him, whatever you need to do, but you better fix this. 

“It wasn’t just these past few weeks, Flash. Ever since Dad…” her voice cracked, and Barry caught the hint of strong emotion in her voice that she had tried so hard to hide when she was at the Labs during that mess with Lewis. “Even before then, since he first saw your face and made that deal…he’s been different. The neighborhood, everything, it’s been _different_ , and I know a big part of that is because of you. 

“He never was a bad guy, you know? Just had bad luck, and hard edges to protect himself. And me. But he could have been more. You make him believe he can be more. You STAR Labs folks, you have a way of bringing that out in people, I guess.” A smile touched her voice, and Barry couldn’t help the quirk at the corner of his mouth as he looked at Cisco. 

“I’ll be there, Lisa,” Barry said. “I’ll fix this. I promise.”

She took a breath, and answered back stronger, as if her voice had never wavered. “You better,” she said, and ended the call.

XXXXX

Barry’s back was starting to get sore from crouching in the same spot for so long, but it couldn’t be helped. Cisco had cased the location as the best vantage point to see every possible angle into Central City Museum. They didn’t know when Snart planned to hit the place, only that it would be tonight, so he’d been on the scene ever since sundown. It was almost 10PM now, and nothing had stirred. 

Barry was so tired. 

It felt odd being back in The Flash suit. Last time he’d worn The Invisible Man, the thought of which still made him shudder. But tonight had nothing to do with Mirror Master—at least he hoped not. Tonight he had to be there to stop Captain Cold, not because Barry cared if Snart stole anything, but because Lisa had asked. Because Barry owed him. It was like Lewis all over again, only this time the one who had wronged Snart was Barry himself. 

“Maybe Lisa was wrong, Barry,” Cisco said over the comms. “Maybe Snart isn’t going to show tonight.”

“I’m not leaving. It’s not like I have to get up for work in the morning. I’ll stay all night if I have to.” 

He’d had hours already, but he still didn’t know what he was going to say when he saw Snart. Maybe all he could do was be The Flash, and show Snart that he wasn’t the awful version of himself he’d showed glimpses of for all these weeks. He couldn’t be the reason that Snart stopped being a better man. The neighborhood needed him. Lisa needed him. _Barry…_

The clock struck 10PM—a nearby church chimed the hour—and all at once, everything changed. 

It started as a flicker. Flashes of light through the windows. Barry had no idea how Snart had managed to get inside without him seeing, but he knew the show had already begun before any alarms had been tripped. 

“He’s here. I’m going in,” Barry said, backing up along the roof he’d been perched on and starting into a sprint to scale down the side of the building. When he reached the street, he corrected his angle and dashed over to the back door closest to where he’d seen the flashes of light. Without pausing to check if the door was already unlocked or busted open, he phased inside. 

“Barry, are you sure?” Caitlin asked. “There hasn’t been any—”

“I’m sure. I’ll keep you posted.”

He paused as he got inside. The museum was dark, save the emergency lights along the edge of the walls, and as track lighting on the path through the exhibits for the security guard to follow. Memories of that first diamond heist with Snart, the first run in with the cold gun, seeing Snart in that well-tailored suit, assaulted Barry as he saw the scorch marks and ice residue on the walls. Heat Wave was here too. 

Barry didn’t risk using his powers. He didn’t want to startle and subdue Snart; he wanted to talk. So he moved swiftly but normal speed through the exhibits, following the trail of fire and ice damage. They weren’t trying to hide their presence, but they weren’t stopping to take things along the way either. They had a destination in mind.

The high ceilings in the building meant voices echoed only too easily. Barry heard the pair several rooms before he caught up to them. They were in the art gallery section stealing paintings, joyfully laughing and calling to each other as they worked. The prospect had excited Barry a week ago. He enjoyed stopping a heist as much as Snart enjoyed pulling one off—usually. But tonight the sound of their mirth turned his stomach.

“Help…” 

Barry whipped around, and saw the security guard leaned heavily against a wall behind him, shivering and half conscious. They were in the Ancient Greece section. Barry hadn’t seen the guard when he first entered, because a marble statue of Persephone had blocked his view. 

“It’s the guard,” Barry hissed as he darted to the man’s side. 

“Do you want us to alert CCPD?” Caitlin asked. 

“No, not yet. Let me handle this.”

He shushed the guard as he reached him. The man didn’t have any burns or larger coatings of ice anywhere, but frost covered his clothing and was slowly melting into dampness. Barry never thought he’d feel so much relief at seeing evidence of the cold field. Snart was still upholding their deal.

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of them,” Barry whispered as he helped the man stand. He was unsteady, but already thawing. “You’ll be fine. Head out through the back as quickly as you can. I got this.”

The guard nodded through his shivers, “Thank you, Flash,” and did as he was told.

Barry shuddered as he steeled himself for what came next.

“Still the same weakness, I see.”

He whirled back around at the sound of Snart’s voice. He and Rory had been a couple rooms ahead yet, but they must have seen Barry, must have heard him, must have known, because there Captain Cold stood, framed in the entryway into the next exhibit. 

He wore the goggles Barry had returned. Wore gloves to handle the gun. But the rest of the outfit—it was pure sex, and all for Barry. He wore the shirt, the one Barry loved, the bright teal blue that brought out Snart’s eyes, with a black three-piece suit, black tie, and a sharp black trenchcoat. He looked so good. Just like Barry had wanted. Just like he’d asked for. Of course Snart had remembered the suit this time. 

“You’re early, Flash,” Snart called, confident and larger than life as he took up the doorway and held his cold gun at the ready. “And why might that be, I wonder?”

Barry risked taking a step closer. “Maybe you’re getting too easy to predict.” 

“Lisa,” Snart said with a twisted smirk. “No matter. If I needed to stay in front of you to beat you, Flash, I’d be a poor nemesis indeed. Speed’s _your_ thing. As you’ll recall, I have something better.” 

The cold field struck Barry like a physical force. He tried to walk forward but the sluggishness that immediately entered his limbs made him falter, even with the suit on. Willing vibrations throughout his body only helped for so long, banishing the stiffness and frost for a handful of moments before it returned faster than he could counter it. 

“L-Len…please…” Barry held up his hands as he tried to inch forward. “Lisa c-called me to…help you.”

Snart dropped his gun to the side, but the cold field remained. “That so? You spout lies at her too? Just what help do I need, Barry? So far the night’s going swimmingly.” 

“S-Stop this.” Barry kept his momentum going, even as he hugged his arms around himself and shivered. “D-Don’t be r-r-reckless…just coz a me. P-People… _c-count_ on you.”

The blast from the cold gun came so fast, Barry hardly noticed that Snart had raised it again. He flew across the room and struck the same wall the guard had been slumped against, barely missing the Persephone statue. 

“Chill out for a while,” Snart said icily, and when Barry was finally able to push upright and glance back toward the entryway, he was gone. 

Usually the cold field worked in a radius around Snart, but Barry knew it could also project forward, keeping Rory back in the gallery room safe. Snart couldn’t have gone far when he walked away, because the cold field still reached Barry where he’d fallen.

“Barry, your vitals!” Caitlin called.

“I’m f-fine…” Barry said as he fought to stand.

“I’m kicking in the failsafe,” Cisco said. Instantly Barry was enveloped in warmth. But Cisco couldn’t do that forever, or it’d short out the rest of the suit’s sensors and fry it completely. 

“S-Stop. Save it for later,” Barry said, even as the heat generated by the suit soothed him. “It’s just the cold field. It sucks but it’s not as bad as a strong blast. He used the lowest setting again when he shot me. He won’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, I hear you, Barry,” Cisco said as the failsafe switched off and the chill of the cold field crept over Barry again before he’d taken even a few steps. “But he also gives you the benefit of the doubt to get out of sticky situations on your own. Don’t underestimate how things could go south.”

“I know.” But Barry deserved a little freezer burn if it helped him get through to Snart. The last thing the thief needed was another stint in prison.

The sudden vision of the two of them serving time _together_ made Barry’s stomach flip. 

He pushed onward into the next room. The frost built back over him quickly, but he could still move, he could fight this. He saw Snart and Rory one more room deeper packing up paintings and getting ready to make their getaway.

“Mick!” Snart called when he saw Barry coming. “Why don’t you help Flash warm up before we head out?” His grin was wicked as he took a ready bundle of loot and dashed out of the room through the far exit.

Relief filled Barry as the cold field dropped to protect Rory from getting caught in it, only for Barry to realize he was weak and still slow and facing down Heat Wave with a manic grin and a charging gun.

Barry barely dove to the side in time as an arc of fire shot toward him. He hit the ground and rolled into the wall as a painting Snart and Rory had left behind was engulfed in flames.

Barry shivered at vibrating speed to slough off the last of the cold field’s effects, finally feeling limber and normal again as he flashed to his feet and gauged how to best approach Rory’s position. But before he could zip into action, the flames died as Rory dropped his gun, and after a glance behind him at where Snart had disappeared, he turned back to Barry and pulled down his goggles.

“Flash! Time out,” he called. 

Barry froze for a moment. “…what?”

Rory actually holstered his gun, tucked it away, and started walking forward with his hands held up. 

“Did he just say, ‘time out’?” Cisco balked. 

“Barry, be careful,” Caitlin added.

It had to be a trick, a trap, but Barry didn’t think they’d had enough time to plan anything that intricate inside the museum. 

“Come here,” Rory gestured when Barry made no move to meet him halfway. He had no other visible weapons on him, but his expression was oddly dispassionate. 

Barry walked cautiously forward. “What do you want?”

Rory showed no signs of stopping, so Barry continued toward him until they stood right in front of each other in the middle of the gallery. Rory lowered his arms. “I know about you two. That you were _fucking_. But he won’t say what you did. Saw him try to tear up a safehouse after you left him hangin’ when he poured his heart out to you though.”

That familiar sinking feeling filled Barry’s stomach. 

“So if whatever you did afterward was worse,” Rory snarled, as his previously hidden emotions flared to life on his face, “then the least you deserve is this.”

Barry saw the punch coming as if in slow motion, saw enough tells that everything around him slowed, and he easily could have avoided the hit. He didn’t. He stayed where he was and closed his eyes just before Rory’s fist made contact with his jaw. 

The punch struck him so hard, Barry was certain that he’d be out cold if he was a normal human. He stumbled, nearly dropped to one knee, and only just barely righted himself to look at Rory again. 

The larger man cracked his neck, clenched his fists, and started to back up. He fit his goggles back over his eyes, and reached for his gun. 

“Okay, Red. Back to the real fight. You better be ready.” 

XXXXX

Mick was taking too long. He was supposed to give Flash the runaround, then join Len outside with the rest of the paintings. Len didn’t like leaving Mick alone with the kid, but someone had to get the car ready. They’d entered from the other side of the museum, but had parked the getaway car by where they’d exit. This wasn’t exactly their first rodeo. 

They’d timed things just right to catch the guard so he wouldn’t trip any alarms early, chosen the right entry point so as not to be spotted, knew the right alarms to trip later to bring The Flash running. Only Barry was already there, so Len didn’t care about bringing the police anymore. He’d frozen the sensors on his way out the door. Maybe this would be better, despite Lisa’s meddling, with no fuzz to get in the way when he lured Barry to the edge of town.

Finally, Mick burst out of the exit door, carrying the rest of the paintings beneath his arm, as he turned and fired back inside the building. Len had the trunk open. Once Mick deposited the rest of the paintings, Len closed it tight, and they went to their respective doors. Mick would drive—he always drove—but the engine was already running. Mick shifted into DRIVE just as Barry darted out of the door after them through a cloud of smoke. 

“Go!”

Mick gunned it, not that speed mattered against The Flash. Outrunning him was never an option, but Len wanted Barry to follow, needed him to. The best thing about hitting the museum was how close it was to their destination. Oh, they still had a drive ahead of them, ten minutes out of town, but when being pursued by The Flash that might as well be an hour. 

In moments Barry was beside the car, running alongside Len’s window, which he’d already lowered. He knew Barry wouldn’t just flash him out of the car, not yet. He wanted to talk. Wanted to plead more of his case, and wrap Len around his finger again. No dice. 

“Len!” Barry called. The way the yellow of Barry’s lightning blurred with the suit and his speed trail was truly a beautiful sight that lit up the night around them as they sped off down street after street, expertly weaving through the few other vehicles on the road. 

“Sorry, Flash, but since you were early to the party, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to even us out.” Len fired his gun out the window at Barry’s feet, sending the kid careening back at high speeds from the sudden stumble. He crashed into a parked car hard enough that Len cringed. That would have seriously injured anyone else. But not Barry—he’d be up and on their tail again sooner than they could afford. 

Len drew his cold gun back inside and set it between him and Mick as he dialed the cold field up and watched through his goggles until the radius surrounded the car. That would keep Barry from getting too close before they were ready for him. 

Mick turned off onto the last road that would take them out of town and into the woods. Getting to the right spot was most crucial, because Len wanted Barry to remember. He wanted him to recognize exactly where Len was taking them. Because that night in the woods had been the moment when Len’s interest in The Flash shifted into something else just from seeing that handsome young face revealed beneath the cowl. 

They neared the location, and Len could make out Barry’s lightning trail behind them, sparking every so often with a burst of speed, and then vanishing when he hit the edge of the cold field. A glance at Mick after watching Barry for so long made Len frown. 

“Mick…”

Mick wore a prominent scowl, but that wasn’t the problem. When he glanced aside to see what Len wanted, Len made a point to nod at the seatbelt currently not buckled in. “We’re almost fucking there!” Mick gestured out the windshield. 

Len kept his stare firmly focused. 

With a huff and exaggerated motions to pull on his seatbelt, Mick complied. 

Len relaxed, as he turned to stare forward again, with glances in the mirror to make sure Barry was still following. He wasn’t being reckless. He was never reckless. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

They reached the spot and slowed to a stop to park. Even with the cold field up, they didn’t have long before Barry would be upon them. Once they were in position, Len turned the cold field off. And Mick turned the heat field _on_. 

Hidden behind the same large tree as they waited for Barry, Len’s anger had simmered to a cold calm. He felt nothing toward Barry now, playing out the same old game of cat and mouse, being the hero. Barry wouldn’t give this up. He wouldn’t accept defeat or failure. Len just wanted to hear him say that, hear him lose control again, and rant and rave and admit how much he had hated Len all along. 

“You sure you don’t want me to fry him,” Mick grumbled. 

“We stick to the plan,” Len said, not even turning his head to look at Mick beside him. “I want him brought low, not dead. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. But if he’s worth all a this, maybe he deserves it.”

“No. We don’t play that way anymore, Mick.”

Mick scoffed. “Wasn’t all that bullshit his idea? And you’re still bowing to it?”

“I don’t bow to anyone, least of all The Flash. But I’d have to be an idiot if I couldn’t admit when my enemy is right. We don’t play that way anymore,” he said again, sharper, to drive the point home. “We don’t need to.”

“Coz we’re better than that, are we?”

“Yes. We are.”

Mick shook his head like he wasn’t convinced, like he didn’t know how to take Len’s recent change of heart. When Len had first made that deal with The Flash, there had always been the caveat that it would only last as long as it suited them. Now Len was saying something different, something that shook Mick’s carefully constructed view of the world. 

“Len!” came Barry’s voice as he finally entered the clearing. 

Len and Mick both straightened. They could hear the crinkle of sticks and leaves on the ground as Barry moved slowly into the heat field, looking for them, obviously seeing the car parked out in the open, but not yet having spotted them. Len nodded to Mick to expand the field in case Barry tried to back out of it, just as they heard the kid give a faint, gasping cough. 

“Wh-what…?” Barry said, and gasped again, struggling for breath. The air outside the safety of the eye was super-heated like the inside of an oven. There was another harsh intake of breath that no doubt seared Barry’s lungs, not at all soothing or kind, and then a thud indicated he had dropped. 

“You didn’t think I was the only one with new tricks, did you?” Len called out, as he and Mick took their cue and parted ways around the tree, only to come together again on the other side, facing Barry as a unified front. 

Barry was on his knees, clutching at the collar of his suit. The cold field had its uses, but this was effective too. Barry continued to wheeze and cough, his eyes hazy from the heat as he struggled to breathe. 

“Do you like the suit, Flash?” Len said, right hand holding his gun up to rest against his shoulder while he showed off just how good he looked for the occasion. 

The flicker of hurt in Barry’s eyes spurred Len on, because it might start as hurt, but eventually it would turn into anger, because that was the real truth. That was the real Barry. 

“Wore it just for you. Do you recognize this spot? Seemed fitting, I thought. See, you’re feeling the heat field right now. But when we go, I’m gonna leave behind the nifty little part of my gun that emits the cold field. I’ll take the gun with me, keep the controls, and then I’m gonna expand the field wider…and wider behind us, so you can spend a little quality time, thinking.” 

Barry reached out as if to say something, to plead with Len, but he merely fell forward, barely able to push up onto his hands and knees as he struggled for breath. 

“Let it up, Mick,” Len said. 

Mick didn’t move. Just stood there, glaring at Barry. 

“ _Mick_.”

“Tch. Fine.” 

Len could see Mick’s heat field radius through his goggles as easily as he saw his own, so when it dropped, he saw the circle of red dissipate. Barry panted, and rolled onto his back as the heat subsided enough for him to finally take in fresh, cooler air again. 

Len circled around him, knowing he only had moments before Barry would be able to run. When he came around to stand by Barry’s feet, looking down at him, while Mick stood across from him at Barry’s head, Len felt justified in everything he’d done if it meant he could look down on Barry now. 

“You’ll be able to crawl out of the field eventually,” Len said as he crouched down, looking into Barry’s sweaty, flushed face. “Might take a few hours though, while you’re slowed, and tired, and freezing. That trick your suit can do to heat yourself up, it won’t last, right? And your friends, if they come to rescue you, won’t be able to get close without suffering through the cold too. 

“So I wouldn’t bother, Cisco!” he called a little louder since he knew the STAR Labs crew were listening. “Flash will be fine. He just needs a little time to think about his actions. Maybe give those IA officers more of a head start before your team brushes it all under the rug. Or will the good Detective West handle most of that? Or maybe you have Singh in your pocket already. He does let The Flash get away with quite a bit. Maybe he doesn’t care if his people are crooked.”

“Len…” Barry croaked out, but Len spoke over him. 

“Tell me, Flash…do you miss me?”

A flicker of hurt again, of pain, flashed through Barry’s eyes, as he laid there winded, before he finally managed a strangled, “Yes.” 

Len’s lip curled up as he said, “ _Good_.” He stood and pointed his gun at Barry while Mick did the same. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen next…”

“Len, wait.” Barry sat up, and instantly Len and Mick both charged their guns. “Please!” He held his hands up but didn’t try to move again. “Just let me explain. Let me try to—”

“You’ve done enough talkin’,” Mick growled, and by the increased whir of his gun, Len knew he was about to fire. 

“Mick!”

The gun went off, scorching the earth where Barry had been—only he was gone, zipped away to safety. 

Len charged across the burnt grass to grab Mick by the collar of his jacket. “ _Don’t_ try that again.”

“Knew he’d run,” Mick shrugged Len off. “Just didn’t want you falling for any more of his bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit!” Barry’s voice yelled from—damn. _Somewhere_. 

Len and Mick circled each other with their guns raised and ready to fire as they sought out where Barry’s voice was coming from. 

“The only person I was conning was myself!” Barry called. “I thought you were the lie, Len. Thought everything you showed me and acted like was just part of your own long game, and in the end you’d prove to me why I was in the right.”

Len snarled, “Come out and face me then if you’re so righteous!” Because Barry’s words were too close to what Len was feeling now, and he couldn’t fall for it, couldn’t falter and acquiesce just to get swindled _again_. 

“Every day we were together, you proved me wrong,” Barry continued, “until none of it was an act anymore, and I just wanted to _keep you_.”

“Enough!” Len cried, as he gestured for Mick to search right, while he went left. 

“I wanted to be worthy of you, Len, and everything you thought you knew about me. I’m not. I’ll never be worthy of that, or you. But it wasn’t all a lie. It was everything I needed based on a lie I told _myself_ , but when I started to care about you—”

Len caught sight of a blur of red ahead of him and fired into the trees. 

“ _That_ was real!” Barry shouted, even as Len saw his lightning trail streak away. 

Len surged forward. He couldn’t see Mick, so he couldn’t risk turning on the cold field without catching him in its path too. As he followed Barry, he lost sight of the clearing and the car quickly, but he knew he was headed the right way, because he saw a burst of orange light up the night from Mick’s gun. 

Len pushed into a run as he spotted Barry darting around trees, avoiding Mick’s furious blasts that weren’t holding back like Len had ordered him. 

“I know you won’t ever believe me, Len!” Barry called out, hoping Len would hear him, but not seeing him, not realizing Len was almost upon him. Barry huffed as he leaned against a tree, and Len lined up his next shot. “And that’s okay! That’s okay… I just needed you to hear me say it.” 

Len stood in wait as Barry rolled to the side when another of Mick’s blasts hit the tree. The kid sprang to his feet, and all at once, Mick had a clear shot. Barry saw it coming, had all the time in the world to zip out of the way, so Len readied himself to head the kid off with a blast from the cold gun whichever direction he darted. 

Only Barry didn’t. He saw Mick start to fire, his gun so much more dangerous than Len’s, because there was no lower setting, but Barry just stood there, waiting for the fire to consume him. 

And closed his eyes. 

“Barry!”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have faith!
> 
> I know Mick seems really pissed and heartless right now, but Len is his buddy! He will come around once he feels Barry has earned forgiveness. 
> 
> Bet you forgot about the heat field, huh?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe rock bottom feels more like this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING. 
> 
> Much like I warned you all before the chapter where Len had a panic attack, now I'm warning you about serious discussion of suicide in this one. So there you go. You've all been wondering, but this isn't as much of a spoiler as you might think. I hope you enjoy how everything plays out. And while I am giving you this warning, I also want to say...I wish I'd had something like this to read at my lowest points years ago. It's a warning for the subject matter, yes, but I promise it is filled with hope. 
> 
> I continue to be speechless from your comments, so heartfelt and in depth, at times delving into deep character introspection, and I just...love this fandom so much! I'm so glad I'm making all of you think and driving you nuts wondering how I'll get them through this. Well here's the start, but there is a long way to go. 
> 
> TheFightingBull suggested "No One's Here To Sleep" by Naughty Boy, and wow, I have claimed it as the story's anthem, because it is perfect. 
> 
> Thank you!

The flames arced toward Barry, and everything stilled into awful, agonizing slow motion. It didn’t mean that Len was faster, didn’t signify any of the miracles that came with Barry’s powers. It merely meant that the moment seemed to last forever, for ages, as Len looked on and realized what Barry was willing to do. 

“Barry!”

He fired as the first tongues of flame reached the kid, heading off Mick’s blast a foot in front of Barry’s face. The overlapping streams nullified each other almost instantly, but like that time in the streets of Central City, the feedback moved too fast, risking a backlash that would send Len and Mick flying. 

Timing his reaction as perfectly as he could, Len released the trigger on his gun before the eruption could happen, and instead of a shockwave, a slight push from the fizzle of fire and ice was all that reached him, making him stumble as the bright light of their guns went dark and left the woods that much darker with it. 

“Hey!” Mick roared, unsure what had happened. He and Len were still on their feet, but Barry had crumbled to his knees. He’d been hit—point blank, however briefly—before Len could intervene. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Len stormed across the space that remained between them. 

Barry shifted to face him, shaking, one hand hovering near the side of his cheek that— _shit_ —looked like mincemeat along his jawline. He’d heal, but that had to sting, and could have been so much worse if Len hadn’t stepped in to save him. 

Len hadn’t meant the worst of his threats. Disconnected from the gun, the cold field would only have lasted a few minutes. He’d just wanted to push Barry, to watch him snap, to see his true face again, he didn’t…he’d never imagined… 

Barry tore his gaze from Len to stare at the ground. Shaking from the pain, but unable to do anything about it, so he dropped both hands to the ground like an exhale. “I’m done,” he said, gasping painfully. “I’m _done_. Do whatever you want to me.” 

“Fine by me,” Mick growled as he stalked forward. 

“ _Mick_.” Len’s tone broached no argument, a clear threat, backed up by the tilt of his gun toward Mick instead of Barry. “Get out of here. Now. Wait by the car.”

Mick rose up taller, the usual spark for a fight between them easily kindled, but Mick wasn’t angry at Len. He was angry on Len’s behalf, which only made him more dangerous. Len didn’t feed into the fight. He dropped his gun and shook his head, letting a hint of pleading enter his gaze through the stern warning. 

Mick released a howl of frustration, making Barry flinch in expectation of another shot from his gun, but the kid didn’t make any attempt to move from where he knelt. For all his fury channeling toward Barry, Mick stomped off, right toward Len to head to the car. He didn’t say anything as he passed by, merely frowned and gave Len a pointed look. 

_Fool me once…_

Len knew that, he knew, but none of this had turned out the way he planned. 

Slowly, all tense nerves and anger, but with concern flowing through him that he hadn’t expected, Len circled closer to Barry. As Mick headed away, Barry glanced after him, and seeing that he and Len were alone, he pulled the cowl from his face with a grimace at the skin that tore, burnt to the mask from the blast. It was only the left side that had been hit, beneath his cheekbone, along his jaw, and slightly down his neck, but it wasn’t pretty. 

Barry sat back on his heels and looked up at Len with all the fight drained out of him. “I can’t…do this anymore,” he said, tears in his eyes from the pain, or maybe from the emotions choking him, maybe both. 

Len had his gun in his grasp, and as he approached, Barry closed his eyes like he was waiting for Len to just… 

Never before had Len felt more of an urge to throw the damn gun away. The fury and hatred he’d expected to find in Barry, counted on finding, surged up in him instead, and for one brief moment he wanted to snatch Barry up by the front of his suit and slam him into the tree behind him. 

But Barry’s eyes opened, and looked at Len again, his burnt face blistered and terrible, hazel eyes glimmering, and Len knew he was never going to see what he’d been waiting for. 

“Get up,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Get up!” he called louder, fiercer, when Barry didn’t move. 

The blank expression on Barry’s face was too pitiable, so when he still wouldn’t move, Len lurched forward to grab his arm and forced him to his feet. He didn’t want to be rough, but he also did. He gripped Barry’s chin, his thumb careful around the burnt flesh, as he turned Barry’s face aside to assess the damage. 

“Do you think this is what I want?” he said, before drawing his hand away, because he couldn’t stomach Barry cringing at his touch. 

Barry blinked at him, as a few fresh tears slid down his cheeks, making him grimace at the salt getting into his burns. “I don’t…I don’t know. You think hurting you is what I want. But I don’t. I don’t want to hurt you, Len,” he said as heartfelt as he had in the apartment when Len had been so certain it was nothing but a lie. “I’m sorry I ever did. Sorry I wanted to then. But I don’t want that anymore.” 

Len turned away, because he couldn’t…look at Barry like this.

“You can’t forgive me,” Barry followed him. “I get that. So if you need to hit me, fight me, hurt me, then go ahead. I won’t stop you.” 

Resentment, old and furious, flared to life in Len’s gut, because no one should ever say that. No one should ever accept someone hurting them because they feel like they deserve it. 

“You can’t make anything better by letting me hurt you,” he said, clenching his fists so tight, he heard the handle of his cold gun creak.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Fight back!” Len whirled to face him. “You’re supposed to fight back.”

“You mean I’m supposed to be the bad guy,” Barry said, steady and unwavering as he stood before Len utterly defeated. “I was the bad guy. I was. And I’m sorry.” 

Len couldn’t hear this. He couldn’t _hear_ this…

“I’m not fixing the IA case, Len. Cisco and Caitlin want me to, Joe and Iris want me to, everyone wants to help me make it go away. But I don’t. I _won’t_.” He sagged from the pain and weariness in his body, and all at once looked so small, so young. “I’m just so _tired_. I was supposed to be getting better and I made everything worse. Maybe I just need to…not be around anymore.”

Nausea replaced the anger Len was grasping onto and drained away into something leaden in the pit of his stomach. Because Barry didn’t mean jail. He wanted Len to think he did, but he didn’t. 

If Len hadn’t been looking at Barry’s burnt face, he might have thought this was all another ploy. But this, finally, was the truth. That angry, brutal Barry, that was part of him, but so was this. So was the broken boy who’d cried in Len’s apartment so many times, who’d confessed dark and terrible things to him. Who’d said again and again that he wasn’t worth wanting. Or saving. Or loving. 

Len pulled the goggles from his eyes. This wasn’t what he wanted. Now he was as bad as Barry, and he thought he wouldn’t care…but he did. He cared, and he hated that he cared, because it made everything harder, made both of them villains and no one was in the right.

“Don’t say that,” Len said firmly, stepping into Barry’s space. “You can’t change any of this by letting them haul you off in chains or getting burned alive.”

Barry’s eyes darted to the ground. “I know. But I don’t know what else to do. I was right back then, you know.” He glanced up, a flick of his eyes and the smallest twitch of a sad smile that made Len ache deep in his bones. “There is good in you. If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t have saved me. You’d be shooting me now. I deserve it.”

“Barry—” 

“There is good in you, Len. More every day. And a little less in me. Please don’t let me ruin that for you.” His voice broke as the tears in his eyes overflowed and he sniffled back a downpour he couldn’t stop. “I’m like this and…maybe I’ll always be like this now…maybe I’m broken in a way that can’t be fixed, but you’re not.” 

Len turned away, all the way around to fight the emotions making his face and eyes feel hot. He couldn’t forgive Barry. But he didn’t want to hurt him, not physically or any other way, not anymore. He just wanted the night to be over. “When did you turn off your comms?” he asked to avoid the subject that remained like static discharge between them, keeping his back to Barry, but finally tucking the cold gun away. 

“I didn’t. They’ve been on the whole time.”

Len turned back halfway, enough to see Barry in his periphery. “Good. Then tell them you’re coming home. Get out of here. Go back to the Labs so they can treat your face.” He willed his legs to move, trudging through the grass like treading deep water, and headed after Mick to reach the car.

“Len! I…I can’t let you take the paintings,” Barry said, brokenly, almost embarrassedly, which made Len laugh in the most humorless way possible.

He turned halfway again, but he didn’t look at Barry, not fully. “You want to go after Mick’s share, be my guest. Mine will be waiting for you where we had the car. Not in the mood anymore,” he said, because he couldn’t say anything else, couldn’t weather this all in one night, not with Barry standing there like a marred reflection of everything they’d lost. 

“Len…I really am sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Len pivoted forward, sniffing helplessly as a few tears streaked downed his face that he furiously wiped away. He couldn’t look at Barry, he couldn’t, because if he did, he’d want to hold him, and tell him everything would be okay. But it wasn’t true. It would never be true. 

“Go home, Barry,” he said, before continuing through the trees. “And don’t ever do something like that again.” 

XXXXX

There was a moment in the woods when Barry almost chased after Snart… _Len_ , but he knew there was nothing more to be said. He thought he’d feel relief finally telling Len the truth, the real truth, and having him—maybe—start to believe him, but the emptiness only grew, like some beast in the cavern of his chest. He barely even felt the pain of his face anymore. 

Cisco and Caitlin had stopped yelling about the time Barry pulled the cowl from his head. They’d heard everything, so they knew he was safe, although injured. When he tugged one of his earpieces toward his mouth and said, “I’m coming back now,” Caitlin responded softly. 

“Okay, Barry.” 

She tended to his face with a gentle hand and ointment to soothe the pain as best she could. The rest would have to heal on its own. Barry didn’t want to talk, but while Cisco and Caitlin respected that, their pitying gazes opened up more of the hole inside of him. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll be better now.” _For Len._ That’s what mattered.

Cisco repeated Len’s words to him, “Don’t ever do something like that again, Barry. Please.”

Barry nodded. “I won’t.”

It was late. They all needed to get home. Sleep. Barry texted Joe before he left the Labs, using the burner phone Cisco had given him for emergencies, and told him he was fine, and that half of the loot had been recovered and returned to the museum by The Flash. He was on his way home. 

When he arrived, he didn’t let Joe see his face. He said he was tired, moved swiftly for his room, and locked the door behind him. He took two of his pills immediately—he just wanted to sleep, he didn’t care if they made him feel anything—and sat on his bed staring at the bottle. He hadn’t even changed out of the jeans and shirt yet that he’d been wearing after he peeled off The Flash suit.

“Giving up already, Barry? Boy, you really are _pathetic_.”

Barry barely flinched to hear his own voice coming from the mirror across the room. Cisco hadn’t finished a version of the Miasma Maker for the house yet. By tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest, he’d said. Maybe Cisco would have pushed harder if Barry had told anyone he was being haunted by his reflection. 

“Go away, Scudder. Aren’t you getting enough of what you want? You could steal anything that suited you and I couldn’t lift a finger. If you’re not going to kill me then just go away.” He wondered if he could fight back if Scudder attacked him. He didn’t seem to have the energy to even lift his head. 

“Looking to take the easy way out? Figures. Everything that makes you worth something you’ve already ruined. Better to get out clean now before you drag anyone else through the mud, right?”

Barry’s hand clenched tighter around the pill bottle. He dragged himself up from the bed, and glared at his reflection, hating it—which was only too easy these days. “What do you even want from me?” he hissed, afraid to yell and bring Joe or Wally running. “You’ve already won. Even if we catch you someday, you won. You’re a better thief than Cold, and you’ve proven The Flash can’t stop you. So _what do you want?_ ” 

The smug smirk on his reflection’s face made him want to punch it, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good. Even the burn scars that were already half healed didn’t seem to bother his reflection the way speaking made Barry’s skin feel tight and sore. But of course it wouldn’t bother _him_. The reflection wasn’t really Barry.

“It’s funny, you know,” the man in the mirror said. He didn’t have the pill bottle; he didn’t need it. He seemed to walk closer to Barry, filling the mirror, which made Barry step closer too. “Funny…that you think I’m Scudder,” he said, and then vanished just as Barry heard a whisper behind his ear, “…and not just in your head.”

Barry whipped around, heart in his throat, pulse skyrocketing as he turned…and nothing was there. If Scudder was in the room somehow, Barry couldn’t fight him. If he wasn’t, then Barry was losing his mind. 

He turned back to the mirror, but it was just him, just his normal reflection moving with him. Barry couldn’t take this. He couldn’t stay in the house tonight. He had to get out of here. 

Grabbing the burner phone, but not thinking to take anything else, he flashed out of the house to the Labs so fast, his clothes were singed by the time he stopped. He patted his shirt half-heartedly, and only then did he realize that while the phone was in his right hand, the pill bottle was still in his left. 

Barry had zipped himself into the pipeline, where the familiar hum was almost soothing. Cisco’s Miasma Maker touched even here, making everything dull without reflective surfaces, like he was surrounded by cotton, muffling everything but that hum. 

He sat against the door, which was hardly comfortable, knees bent up, arms resting atop them, suspending his hands and what he held in them right in front of his face. 

The cell phone that wasn’t really his. 

The pills. 

It was like some awful microcosm for his life. Everything he’d tried to fix, but lost. The numbness and exhaustion. A way to reach out, but no one to call. What he should do…and what he wanted. 

It had been years since he’d felt this low. But it wasn’t the first time. Not even close. He’d always been a burden, always been weak, always been the reason other people’s lives fell to shambles. He’d thought, finally, as The Flash, he could make up for that. But he was just a mess with superpowers. Just a lightning fast disaster no one saw coming until it was too late. 

The last time he’d sat like this in the pipeline, he’d chucked his phone at the wall and nearly busted it. This time...he knew what he had to do instead. 

He reared back and threw the bottle of pills across the room, where it struck the wall and burst open, spilling pills all over the floor. Clutching the phone in both hands, he pulled his knees into his chest and sobbed.

“Barry?”

Barry gasped at Caitlin’s voice. He hadn’t looked around, but he’d been certain Cisco and Caitlin would be gone. He looked up, and she was already walking toward him from the entrance, face drawn in concern, ignoring the pills, focused solely on Barry. She didn’t say anything until she reached him, sat down beside him with her legs tucked to the side in her skirt, and pulled Barry against her. 

He sobbed harder as he pressed his face to her shoulder. 

“What do you need?” she asked.

Barry shook his head. “I don’t know. I…I thought you’d gone home.”

She squeezed him tighter. “Seemed there was more to do tonight.”

Barry chuckled through his sobs. But he still cried. And clung to her. And was so thankful for his good friend, even though he hated himself all the more that she had to be there for him—again. 

After a few moments of dampening Caitlin’s shoulder, Barry pulled away, and she touched his face gently along the burns. By tomorrow they’d barely be noticeable, which seemed too unfair.

“I can bleed...and bruise...and burn,” Barry said, staring at the tear stains left on Caitlin’s dress. “I can cut myself so deep, someone else wouldn’t survive it. And I just heal like it was never there…” He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, and the affection he found in her expression burned him all over again. “But I still feel it. All of it. Every pain, inside and out. It looks like it heals, but it never goes away. 

“Everyone thinks I’m so lucky,” he snorted bitterly. “Did you ever stop to think what I’d look like if you could see everything I’ve healed? If it was still marked across my skin? You wouldn’t recognize me. I don’t. Because that’s all I see when I look in the mirror. Nothing but damage.”

“Barry…” Caitlin placed a hand on his knee, tucked to the side now like hers. “Please don’t let Snart do this to you. I know you feel like you did a terrible thing to him, that you deserve his hatred, but what he did in retaliation…is that really someone you would want to be with? Someone who could go to such lengths to hurt you just because he was angry?”

“He’s not like that,” Barry shook his head. “There were plenty of times I made him angry when we were together, or hurt him, even scared him, and he was always understanding, always forgiving. This was different. He thought I lied about everything. Thought I was as bad as his father. Thought I was trying to hurt him on purpose, and kept waiting for me to…laugh at him and prove how cruel I was. Do you know what that must have done to him? This wasn’t some abusive, poisonous relationship, and what he did proves he could be that way again. I was the poison, not him. I’ve known the kind of man he was ever since what happened with his father, I was just fooling myself.”

“But, Barry…he killed his father.”

“Exactly. He killed a villainous, awful person who’d hurt him and deserved nothing less. I won’t mourn that man, I won’t. But even after I put Len in that same position, once he believed me, once he realized I wasn’t lying about all of it, not all of it…then he was the man I knew he could be again. He was never going to kill me, he didn’t even want to see me hurt, even when he expected the worst of me. He saved me.” 

Caitlin’s expression deepened into a firm frown. “So you put yourself in danger hoping he’d save you?”

“No! No…it wasn’t like that.”

“Okay. Then if you didn’t expect to be saved, what did you want?”

Barry opened his mouth but floundered for what to say.

“Barry,” Caitlin’s eyes drifted to the scattered pills, “please listen to me. I know you’re getting sick of hearing this, but I promise you, things will get better. It might feel like…like life isn’t worth living right now, but—”

“I wasn’t—” Barry looked to the pills too, hating them and everything they represented. “I _wouldn’t_. I just…” But damn it, he was too tired to lie. “I…I’ve thought about it…a few times, but I swear I'd never do it.” 

“You’d simply stand there and let it happen _to_ you?” Caitlin said, not judging, or mocking, just honest, and not letting Barry get away with any deflection. 

“Maybe,” Barry said, feeling that numbness creep into his limbs again. “What stopped me most of the times I thought about it was…I didn’t even know if ODing would be possible for me. I’d probably just burn through them all.” He laughed—and god, why did he keep doing that; laughing when it wasn’t at all funny? Fresh tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked hard, keeping his gaze on the floor. “Sometimes…when I’d take a couple to go to bed, I’d think about…taking all of them so I wouldn’t have to wake up.” His throat constricted from the shame of finally admitting that. 

“Barry…how often did you take two pills, or more than two?” Caitlin asked, surprisingly tolerant, Barry thought, and yet still he felt cornered by her question. 

“I usually took two. At the same time. The other night, I…I took two before bed after I’d already taken two in the morning. I just wanted to sleep.” He looked up, feeling even guiltier, like Caitlin must be ready to berate him, but she had this sad, condolatory smile on her face. 

She reached over and took his hand. “I’m glad you told me, Barry. I’m glad you never took more than that. I’m glad you threw them away just now instead of giving in to the temptation. I’m glad you’re here…right now, with me. And I am so sorry I lied to you, even if it was to protect you.”

“What?” Barry sat up straighter. “What do you...mean? The pills, taking too many, it’s been making me worse, hasn’t it?”

“No, Barry. They wouldn’t be able to do that. All they can do is what you believe they can do.” She squeezed his hand once more, then let go as if expecting he’d be the one to pull away. “They’re placebos. They’ve always been placebos. They were never real.”

Barry gaped at her, because that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be _right_.

“The truth is there’s no way to create medication for you that doesn’t first compromise your immune system,” she said. “It was too much of a risk. I shouldn’t have lied, Barry, but I was afraid that if you heard one more thing that wouldn’t work for you, it would push you that much harder toward…”

“Where I am now,” he finished for her. Everyone was always trying to save him, and even that he had to ruin. “But they…they have to be real. I thought I was making myself worse by taking too many, that’s why I’ve been _seeing_ …” He clenched his eyes shut at the memory. 

“Seeing what, Barry?”

“ _Me_ ,” he said, safe in the darkness behind his eyelids. “My reflection. I thought it was Scudder torturing me, but I don’t know anymore…I don’t know. Maybe I’m just crazy.”

“Barry…” He felt the gentle touch of her hand again and opened his eyes. He couldn’t be angry at her for what she’d kept secret. Part of him was relieved to know that if he had given in and downed the bottle, nothing would have happened. “You’re not crazy. Of course it’s Scudder. He just wants you to second guess yourself. You can stay here tonight, okay? Stay as long as you need until Cisco sets up his machine in your house.” She reached for his face again, and brushed the tears from beneath his eyes. The gesture made Barry feel like he was ten years old after a nightmare and his mother was trying to calm him. 

“The pills…” he said, “they did work sometimes, even if they weren’t real. The whole...placebo thing, it worked. So even if a pill could never help me, if I just stop thinking I could be fixed overnight, maybe I can get better. I _was_ getting better. I was finally starting to let some things go. With Len…”

Caitlin nodded somberly. “Then you can get back to that, Barry. With or without him.”

It stung to imagine being without Len, even though Barry knew he could never have him back in his life. He wanted to further prove to Caitlin that Len was worth loving, worth wanting, worth forgiving, but he knew she was just trying to protect him.

“I know it’s been tough lately, Barry, the way everything kept snowballing without giving you a break. I know how low that can bring you, even if you’ve never felt before like—”

“But I have felt this way before,” Barry cut her off, ashamed again, but he needed to say this. “It wasn’t the first time I’d ever thought about…” He sighed. Just when he’d thought the tears had stopped…

Caitlin didn’t ask, didn’t push, merely squeezed his hand in support.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. Those six months after the singularity…it was almost all the time,” he whispered like it was some awful secret. Because it _was_. “And before that. When I turned twenty-one. And eighteen. And _sixteen_. Every birthday, because it’s always the day after Mom died, and sometimes I _can’t_ …” His voice broke, and he was shaking now, trembling. 

When Caitlin pulled him in hard, back against her shoulder, he didn’t resist, but buried himself there gratefully. He’d never told anyone that. Not even…

“Iris…”

“Barry?”

“I never told her. Or Joe. I think they knew but…” 

“Well I’m glad you’re telling me now.” Caitlin held him, just… _held_ him, and again he thought of his mother, because the center of his lowest points, in the beginning, had always revolved around losing her. And Caitlin, while he wouldn’t openly say she was a motherly figure…she also was. A constant friend, always caring for him, always treating him when he was wounded or broken. 

Somehow she seemed stronger than Iris when he thought about talking through things like this, not because Iris wasn’t strong—few women were as strong as Iris West—but because Iris had suffered through so much of Barry as a burden, while Caitlin could pull on a calm façade like a lab coat, be Dr. Snow for a while, and weather through it. Which wasn’t fair to Caitlin, but it made Barry so thankful to have both women in his life as such different pillars helping to hold him up.

Barry clung to Caitlin longer this time, until his sobs were fully stilled, the last of the dampness banished, and his chest didn’t feel quite as tight. 

“I promise I won’t,” he said softly. “I won’t. It’s just that…sometimes…” 

“I know, Barry. Believe me,” she said, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes held as much dampness as his own. “I know. I lost the love of my life. Twice. I know.” She smiled sadly, and Barry knew she meant it as more than simple empathy, but comradery in that feeling of having no other way out. 

Barry had sought destruction at his lowest; Caitlin had buried herself in work. But it gave him strength that she smiled at him now, when once upon a time she was the girl who never smiled. 

“You should sleep, Barry,” she said, an ease between them with everything out in the open, and no more tears to be shed—for now. “You need rest. I can help you set up the lounge to be more comfortable. And I’ll stay here tonight too so you aren’t alone. Is there anything else I can do?” 

There was a weight gone from Barry’s chest that had never quite lifted before. Almost with Len, many times, but this…this had been the last secret he hadn’t been able to share with anyone. Sharing it with Caitlin now felt more freeing than he’d expected. It made him wish he could tell Len too, without seeming like he was just trying to garner sympathy. 

What he really needed to do now was to figure out how to best protect him and Len from the perils they still faced. Scudder. Each other. The investigation looming over Barry that he wasn’t so sure anymore that he should just let happen. There was more he could do. There was so much more he could do rather than stand still and let life happen to him. 

“This…is good,” Barry said, looking at Caitlin, the two of them sitting in the pipeline with dozens of pills littering the floor a few feet away. He reached for the cell phone that had slipped from his fingers. “But I think there’s one more person I need to talk to tonight.” 

Caitlin didn’t pry. “Okay. I’ll be in the lounge when you’re ready,” she said, and with a supportive smile, she slowly stood and moved out of the room. She’d paused just before leaving to look at the pills, but Barry shook his head. He’d clean them up himself. It was his mess. And it was time he started fixing things without running. 

He took a breath as he sat back against the pipeline door, and dialed a number he hadn’t called in weeks.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Dad. I know it’s late, but…can we talk?”

XXXXX

Len shouldn’t be out in the open. Not with an IA investigation going on that could likely lead the officers looking into Barry—and looking into Len’s comms—right to his neighborhood, but he didn’t care. He’d taken the precaution to wear his cap, his glasses, to carry himself with that slightly altered gait that made people disregard him. He’d know the second anyone who didn’t belong entered his line of sight. He just needed to be out. Anywhere but stuck in his apartment. 

He figured today was a good day to check on his investments, to make his usual rounds to be certain everyone in the neighborhood had what they needed and weren’t being given any trouble. Len also wanted to be sure that Dunkirk hadn’t gotten out of holding too quickly and wasn’t lurking about his streets again. 

Unlikely though—having The Flash giftwrap a wanted criminal and set him on CCPD’s doorstep carried a little more weight than usual, and Daddy Dunkirk didn’t seem as eager to help his son out this time around. Good riddance. 

Today Len had started his rounds backwards from his apartment. He was on his way to Rashid’s shop next, then the bakery, a handful of others along the way to Mrs. Pak’s, then finally the electronics store before ending at Saints and Sinners. He needed to warn Hartley about the comms. He’d been too preoccupied with his revenge plan against Barry to give the young engineer a head’s up. IA wouldn’t put priority on a piece of evidence for an internal case, not when it was connected to a heist that already had a suspect. Len had another couple days, but he needed to be ready. 

In keeping with his low-key presence around the neighborhood, Len snuck in through the back of Rashid’s shop. He’d have to be cautious, call out before he was directly in view, in case Rashid was feeling trigger happy again today. The jingle of the bell above the door announced a customer, so Len held back to wait. 

“Ah, you! Always welcome here. How can I help?” Rashid greeted whoever had entered much more genially than Len was used to. 

“Hi!” a bright, familiar voice answered, stopping Len in his tracks. “I don’t mean to be any trouble, I just wanted to, umm…well…to give you a head’s up about some police that might come through in the next few days. If they ask about me, I don’t want to get Mr. Snart into any trouble.”

Len’s throat went dry. Was Barry searching for angles again? No…no. Len didn’t believe that anymore. But then what?

“No trouble,” Rashid said. “I know nothing. Never seen you before. And Mr. Snart? Please. No Commander Cold here. Nothing important ever happens here. Now, you interested in some menthols?”

Barry chuckled lightly, and it was so…endearingly sweet, so like Len was used to hearing from when Barry was just his adorable, fumbling self that Len had first fallen in lo…

Len shook his head, struggling not to clear his throat and give himself away as he leaned against the wall in the back room. 

“Thanks. Rashid, right? Thank you. You probably have all of this down by now, and I’m just making a fool of myself.”

No feat there. 

“But all the same, if anyone comes looking…well, just be yourself.”

“Of course,” Rashid said warmly. “You want anything from store, you help yourself. Or take something for Mr. Snart. Here…” Shuffling signaled that Rashid was moving, possibly to come into the back, which made Len tense at being caught, but Barry called after him. 

“No! Please. Really. He won’t want anything. Especially not from me. If anyone asks, you never saw me. You never saw him. It’ll all blow over in a week or two. And hey, if you can do me just one other favor?”

“ _Anything_. Anything.”

“Don’t tell _him_ I was here either.”

Len stood in a daze for several moments, not hearing whatever exchange passed between Barry and Rashid next before Barry excused himself and left the shop. Barry was the one at risk, and here he was, putting himself on the line again—for Len. What the hell was the kid thinking?

Len hurried out of the back of the shop to head Barry off. Tailing someone in his own neighborhood was child’s play, so long as Barry didn’t kick in his speed. But Barry seemed ready for a leisurely stroll. 

He wore his all black ‘Sam’ outfit with a cap on his head like Len in case IA were already poking around. Unlikely. They might be watching Barry at home, but he would have flashed out of the house to the neighborhood, impossible to track. The only suspicious characters around right now were Barry and Len themselves.

Len ducked into the back of the bakery when he saw Barry head there. He moved quietly, knowing each place of business on his turf well enough to sidestep boxes and equipment without a single unwanted noise. 

Until Janey came around a corner and barreled right into him.

“Oh my goodness! Mr. Snart!” she exclaimed, nearly dropping the dirty pan she had been bringing back to the sink.

Len reached out to keep the pan from unbalancing and brought a finger to his lips. The bell chimed over the door, a more musical sound than Rashid’s.

“Hello?” Barry called.

Janey’s eyes widened at the implications, but Len shook his head. He wasn’t here. She hadn’t seen him. Janey pursed her lips with a confused frown, but she soon passed the pan to Len as she dusted her hands off on her apron.

“Coming!”

Len deposited the pan in the sink behind him, then inched closer to the front after Janey. Barry engaged her in a similar exchange as the one Len had already overheard, though unlike Rashid, Janey managed to force a donut on Barry—on the house.

“Is everything okay, Barry?”

“Like I said, it’s just the police—”

“I mean between you and Mr. Snart.”

“Oh…uhh…”

“Did he do something he shouldn’t? That museum heist last night…they say it was him. The security guard got a good look. But I heard The Flash recovered half the stolen goods. Did something happen?”

Damn Janey and her sincere curiosity. Len tried to peek around the doorway into the front. He could just barely make out the brim of Barry’s hat.

“It’s not that,” Barry said. “I did something and…I’m just trying to make it right. Please, don’t tell him I was here.”

“Okay. But I don’t understand. Wouldn’t you want him to know you’re trying to protect him?”

“No. Because then it becomes about me instead of him. Thank you, Janey,” Barry said, and took his leave.

A new feeling of nerves and guilt and _hope_ stirred inside of Len. He didn’t have any answers about what he wanted right now, or what to do next, but he knew he couldn’t let Barry out of his sights. 

He didn’t wait for Janey to find him in the back again before he ducked outside, following a parallel path to Barry along alleyways and side streets to see where the kid would go next. They’d been in synch even before Len caught Barry at Rashid’s. Barry was on a backwards path from Len’s apartment too, following a reverse route from when he’d accompanied Len on his rounds. He’d probably figured it was safest to start near Len’s apartment to make sure Len wasn’t around. Len had taken back streets the whole way, out of sight, so Barry simply hadn’t seen him.

Now Len continued that trend, entering the back of every business Barry stopped at. The same story played out each time, between Barry and the people of the neighborhood he had met. 

Only Mrs. Pak actually asked, “You cop?” with a scrutinizing eyebrow.

“CSI.” 

“And Lenny know?” 

“He did. We were just a really good, really bad idea for a while.” Barry turned to walk away but Mrs. Pak stopped him. They were only a shelf away from Len this time, since he’d had to slip inside the store itself to overhear them tucked back by the frozen food section. 

“Anything more I can do, you say so. Lenny good boy. You good boy too.” She patted his cheek. Only then did Len realize that Barry’s burns were gone, leaving behind a faint redness that most people wouldn’t notice. 

“What you do normally is more than enough, but if you think throwing me under the bus would protect him better…do it. I just want to keep him safe.”

Mrs. Pak tried to hold Barry longer, to talk to him more, but Barry politely declined and hurried on. Barry didn’t know the rest of the neighborhood, other than Saints and Sinners, so Len wondered if he would stop here, head home, flash away and be gone. He didn’t. As Len snuck back out of the corner store to continue tailing Barry, he watched the kid turn toward Andrews Electronics. 

_Shit._

Len nearly risked Barry spotting him with how swiftly he tried to get there first. He fumbled with the key when he reached the back door, and was not at all stealthy as he entered. Hartley was working today. That’s part of why Len was making his rounds, to be sure he caught the kid. But if Barry saw him…more complications were not what they needed right now. 

Len rushed through the back room, nearly plowing into Arty who came toward him with a baseball bat raised, only to sag in relief when he saw that the person breaking into his shop in the middle of the day was Len. 

“Geez! Where’s the—”

“Hart!” Len called, knowing he had moments before Barry entered the shop. 

“What?” Hartley’s disembodied voice yelled back in irritation. 

“Get back here!”

The sound of the bell chimed just as Hartley’s head peeked around the side of the curtain. “What is your problem—”

“Excuse me?” Barry called from the front. 

Len pleaded intently with his eyes for Hartley to get with the program already, but Barry’s voice was enough. Hartley stiffened, straightened, caught between the front of the shop and the back, but at least he wasn’t facing Barry. 

“Uhh…” he made a strangled effort to affect his voice, “one moment please!” and dove into the back, swiping the curtain shut behind him. He gestured madly at Arty to get his ass out there instead. 

Arty glanced between Len and Hartley as he carefully set aside the bat he’d grabbed for defense, and opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Hartley wildly shook his head, and Len managed a very low, whispered, “ _Please_.” Arty sighed. 

“Hi there!” Arty said as he entered the front of the shop with a flourish. “Sorry about that. My engineer had an emergency. Dropping off, or picking up? Or looking for something to buy?” At least Arty was a picture of calm, not even a mild hitch to his tone to betray what was going on behind the curtain—namely Hartley continuing to gesture emphatically while Len brushed him off with a wave and moved to be within better hearing distance of the front. 

“I’m not here to shop, actually,” Barry said. “Are you the owner?”

“Technically my father is, but he doesn’t come in much anymore. How can I help you?”

“Oh. Well…you know, maybe this was a bad idea. I’ll just—”

“You’re _Barry_ , aren’t you?” Arty said with a dawning of understanding. 

Len shot Hartley a glare, but Hartley just rolled his eyes. 

“Uhh…yeah. So you _do_ know.”

“About you and our good Captain? ‘Fraid so. Don’t worry though, it isn’t my business. Was there something I could do for you? A message you wanted to pass along?”

“No. No, nothing like that. I’m just a little worried there might be some police coming by soon to ask questions. About him…and me. The comms he used, they came from this shop, didn’t they?”

Len paled as Hartley glared at him. They were on either side of the curtain now, both trying to peek through the visible slits on the sides. All Len could see was Arty’s back.

“Sorry, not at liberty to answer that, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Barry chuckled nervously. “It’s just…I messed up, and they’re in evidence now, and if that leads anyone back here, I wanted you to be prepared. I know how much he means to this neighborhood. I don’t want to ruin that just because I was careless.”

“So if anyone comes asking, what should I tell them?” Arty asked suspiciously. “Don’t think I’ll be saying Captain Cold stole anything.”

“No! No… I had something else in mind. Tell them you made those comms for The Flash.” Len and Hartley stared at each other as Barry pushed on through the pregnant pause that followed. “I promise he’ll back up your story to the police. I think I finally figured out how to make things easier for everyone, but if they can’t be easier for me…that’s okay.”

Len glanced back to see Arty nod. “I suppose I could say that. Doubt they’ll believe me, but if you really have that much clout with The Flash…” 

“He works with my dad. He’ll agree to this. Don’t worry. Also, can you not tell Len…I mean, Cold that I was here? He doesn’t want to hear about me right now.” 

“I can try, but…if he asks...” 

“Right. No, I get that. Then tell him I was an asshole. Probably more likely to believe that anyway.” Barry said his farewells, and Arty wished him good luck. 

Len had wondered why Barry would bother coming into the electronics store, since no one here had ever met him, but the comms, Barry was trying to shift the blame onto The Flash. The Flash was known to have been at the museum that night, but so far nothing pointed at Len. This would protect the neighborhood, and lift suspicion that Captain Cold might be hiding here. 

Len was still resting against the wall by the curtain when Arty parted it to return to them. Hartley followed Arty further into the back, but Len couldn’t move. 

“Is one of you going to explain what that was really about?” Arty demanded, arms crossed as he squared off against Hartley. 

“He would have recognized me,” Hartley said. “You know he’s the CSI Snart’s been seeing. The rest actually isn’t that hard to figure out.” He crossed his arms to match Arty, though he turned his exasperation onto Len. Hartley didn’t seem angry though. After all, they’d just been given leave to protect themselves with the best alibi possible.

It was only then, as Len stood staring at the two of them, that recognition dawned in Arty’s eyes. 

“Was I just talking to _The Flash_?”

XXXXX

Len sat in a booth at Saints and Sinners, only a few people filling the other tables for lunch, as he picked at his food. The night before and subsequent chase that morning had left him weary. Part of him wanted to just move on from this—from Barry. Maybe it was time to leave Central City for a while. He’d been gone before. But then he’d leave all these people, this neighborhood. 

Carla caught his attention, wiping down a table toward the back, despite barely being able to bend over. She had a month left before the baby was due, but she looked about ready to burst. Never in the past would Len have risked his own wellbeing for someone else, other than Lisa or Mick, but word of his absence would travel quickly in this city, and lesser criminals would move in. Dunkirk was still a threat. Others looking to muscle into his territory. He couldn’t leave. This was his city. His home. 

And what about Scudder? If Barry couldn’t defeat him alone… 

Nausea settled in Len’s stomach, something his food only made worse, and he grimaced as he took his next bite. Now he was thinking about future heroics. What the hell had Barry done to him…?

A familiar pattern of footsteps caught his attention—the click of heels behind him. He straightened, already expecting Lisa by the time she came around the table and sat in the booth across from him. Her hair was perfectly curled, and her black leather jacket didn’t quite hide the deep V of the blouse she wore. 

“We need to talk, Lenny.”

Len hadn’t forgotten that she was the one who’d sent Barry after him early last night. “Do we now?” He tapped the side of his water glass. 

“Yeah,” another voice answered him, and before Len could turn, someone else moved around the table. “We do,” Cisco said, and slid into the booth beside Lisa. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Everything is not yet fixed, and this isn't to say I won't throw more pitfalls at them (cough*Scudder*cough) but I hope I've addressed some of the most lingering concerns that it seemed so hopeless for them to get out of this.
> 
> It took me a long time to figure out when Barry would finally call Len 'Len' in narrative, and finally this was the chapter when I could no longer write Snart, because Barry finally got his catharsis with Len, even if he still has a long way to go.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing off against Cisco and Lisa may be more of a challenge than Len expected, while Barry finally faces the end of his case with Internal Affairs - or so he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was by far the hardest for me to write. Not difficult subject matter, just...hard to pull out of me, so please let me know what you think. I'm very excited for where we start to go next with everything so...stay tuned!

Cisco stood out like a—well. Like an adorably nerdy engineer in a biker bar. He had a vintage Voltron T-shirt on with a grey button down and red pants. 

Lisa’s eyes swept down his body with full indulgence as he sat beside her. Len wondered if she’d told Cisco that he’d showed her all of the original cartoon when she was younger. They really were far more suited for each other than either realized. Only maybe they did realize, since apparently they’d been seeing each other behind Len’s back. 

He refused to let Cisco see any of the fondness he had for him. “Rough neighborhood, ya know,” he said with a dangerous quirk to his lips. “Sure you’re in the right place?”

“Be nice, Lenny,” Lisa warned him. “We’re all friends here.”

“I’m always nice. And since when are any of us _friends?_ ” 

Cisco wasn’t the same huddled boy who’d cried when Len threatened the life of his brother; he didn’t scare so easily anymore, especially not with Lisa at his side. “Since you started being such a terrible villain.”

Len’s smirk twitched at the reminder of what Barry had once said to him. He leaned back in the booth and pushed his plate of half eaten food away. “Sometimes I’m in it for the thrill more than the haul, doesn’t change how I spent my Monday night. Are you looking to recruit for the home team, Cisco? Coz if so, I’m afraid that isn’t—”

“Can you cut the bullshit?” Cisco gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “No one’s buying it, especially not me. The guard was unhurt, you let Flash go, you even let him take back your loot. You don’t have to do the Captain Cold thing with me,” he said earnestly, betraying a touch of…affection. “You took care of him when he wouldn’t let anyone else near him. And he’s been going out of his mind trying to do everything he can to protect you and make this right.”

Len squirmed in his seat. “Yes, well, hindsight’s a bitch, isn’t it? If you’re worried I still have it out for The Flash, you can save your breath. We’re even. If you get a line on Scudder, tell me where to point my gun and I’ll be there. I owe the bastard. The rest is over and done with. Neither you nor The Flash needs to worry anymore. And we can say _Barry_ , by the way. She knows.” He flicked his eyes to his sister. 

Cisco’s bravado cracked as he turned to her and sputtered, “You do?” 

Lisa offered a small, girlish shrug. “Found out on my own. Don’t blame Lenny. Flash’s secret’s safe with me. After all, we came here,” she turned her attention back to Len, “on his behalf. Not that he knows, but someone needs to fight for that boy, since he’s sworn off fighting for himself.”

Guilt and anxiety wormed its way into Len’s chest. He wasn’t having this conversation—ever. “You don’t know what happened between us.” 

“Actually…I do.”

Eyes sharpening instantly, Len fought to keep his lip from curling into a sneer as he turned to Cisco. 

“She muscled it out of me!” He held up his hands. “Besides, someone else on your team needed to know the truth, since you and Barry are like these awful angst twins with your suffering in silence crap. Newsflash, Cold: you are allowed to be happy, even if you’re mostly a dick.” 

Lisa cleared her throat, and Cisco straightened, as if remembering he was supposed to be giving some sort of pep talk rather than berating Len, not that Len could tell the difference. But then Cisco’s expression softened, and since the kid had no talent for guile, Len knew the sentiment was genuine, which only made his chest tighten further. 

“I wouldn’t have believed you two could be good together if I hadn’t seen it and heard it for myself—heard way too much, to be honest,” he grimaced. “But you being willing to look out for him when you were supposed to be nemeses, and him waxing on about your Han/Leia esque romance of banter-filled sexual tension that might as well be written in the stars it’s so nauseating…that isn’t something you just let go.” 

Len’s instincts were to counter everything Cisco said, to clench his fists and be angry. He tried so hard to give in to that, to find his anger again so he could spit Cisco’s words back in his face, but he didn’t have the energy—he didn’t have the will or the desire either, not anymore. 

He’d been over all of this in his head too many times. Everything they’d had, everything they’d lost—really lost, because Barry wasn’t the villain Len had expected. He felt like he was trapped on all sides, like that Mapplethorpe photograph in his living room of a man in a circular prison with nothing to do but push against his walls and never make any progress. No answer was the right one, and none of it was fair.

“Cisco told me about last night,” Lisa said when the silence lingered. “Not that I needed him to. Mick was still up with a beer in hand when I went around the safehouses looking for you. Sitting there drinking alone, sulking and staring at his newly acquired paintings. Kept muttering about how he wasn’t giving them back, like he thought you’d ask him to. I know him too well, Lenny. He wasn’t pissed off. He was worried. You got all invested in The Flash, and it crashed and burned around you. So you upped the stakes like you always do to tear him down with you. Only that backfired too. Because he never wanted to hurt you.”

“But he did,” Len’s voice caught on the truth of it. “That’s the point. He only ever touched me because he wanted to drag me through the mud.”

“You’re right,” Cisco said, unwavering even as Lisa deflated. “But that’s not the way things stayed. You know it’s not. You know he wishes he could take it all back, that he changed his mind because he cares about your stupid ass. And you better feel at least a little bad for letting his face get melted off last night just because you wanted some payback.”

“I didn’t—” Len tensed as he shifted to the edge of his seat, but his momentum dwindled as soon as he saw Cisco’s face. 

He’d heard the concern and caring in Cisco’s voice that night on the phone, not only for Barry’s sake, but for him, when Cisco had no reason to give a shit about Len’s wellbeing. But that’s just how these hero types were. Damn martyrs, the lot of them. That’s why Cisco was worthy of Lisa, because he’d always put her before himself. 

Now those same emotions were etched on Cisco’s face, along with his steadfast resolution. He wouldn’t back down. He’d stand strong even if they came to physical blows, and it wounded Len to know that he wasn’t only standing up for Barry, but for a lost cause. 

“This isn’t your fight,” Len said.

“But it is. You don’t have to weather this alone. You’re _not alone_ ,” Cisco countered, his voice growing louder, enough that Carla raised an eyebrow their direction—and damn it, Len did not want any more attention on their table. “We’re a part of this because we are part of your lives. No matter how much you and Barry try to push us away, we’ll always be there, because we care about what happens to you.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Len hissed.

“Everything okay over here, Leonard?” Carla waddled up to the table. “You need something else? Refill on anything? Lisa? Anything for your friend?” She smiled warmly, but there was an edge to her gaze as she rested her dark eyes on Cisco, someone she didn’t know who was obviously irritating one of her regulars. 

Lisa made a point to reach over and place a perfectly manicured hand on Cisco’s arm. “All fine here, Carla. Why don’t you bring Lenny a box?”

Carla accepted Lisa’s cue with a nod. “Sure thing, hun. Be back in a bit.” Which meant she’d make scarce for a while longer, all taken from a silent conversation—expected of women who were used to ducking questions from the law and passing coded messages.

Len sat back, half ready to dive out of the booth, leave the bill to Lisa, and forget this day, week, _month_ , ever happened. But his limbs were sluggish, his whole body, as if he was trapped within his own cold field. 

The flush that had filled Cisco’s cheeks when Lisa touched him slowly dissipated as she withdrew her hand. He steeled himself quickly, like an interrogator, undeterred by Len or Carla or anything that might stand in his way.

“I told you not to hit him while he was low.”

“Yeah…well he hit first,” Len grit out, even though the argument was weak now, thin and empty, despite how much it had hurt. “What I overheard him tell you...how he said all the right things, acted in all the right ways just to get me under his thumb...”

“You thought he meant all of it,” Cisco said. “But he didn’t. Maybe...maybe in the beginning it was an act, but any time he showed you how messed up and tired and just plain pulled apart he is, believe me, man, that was real. 

“You overheard him confess the worst of it. You want to know what he said after that? He talked about how much he hates himself for what he tried to do to you. How it makes him just like the man who stalked him and tortured him and killed his mother.”

_Maybe you were grateful when he killed your mother._

“He said he didn't mean to fall in love with you—” 

Len’s eyes snapped up from the table. 

“—but he did anyway. Because apparently you're caring. And thoughtful. And the only good thing going in his life. Which kind of pissed me off, to be honest,” Cisco scowled, “but he's been in a bad way, so I let that one slide. But if you think for one second he was blowing smoke about all that—”

“Stop,” Len choked out, hating how tight his throat felt, how hot his eyes had become. He would not be brought to tears in Saints and Sinners! But he couldn’t shake the emotions choking him. 

All he’d wanted only a few days ago was to hear Barry say he loved him. 

“He just… _stood_ there while Mick fired at him. He tried to _kill himself_ to prove something to me. There is no fairytale ending here, Cisco. We’re toxic.” Len grimaced as he swiped at his eyes, almost angrier that he didn’t find wetness there because Cisco had still seen it, that moment of weakness expecting to find tears. 

“He didn't try to kill himself _for you_ ,” Cisco said. “He did it because he’s messed up about himself and what he’s worth. You wanna know when he was most okay lately? When the two of you were together, because he could be something with you that he couldn't be with the rest of us. _Unmasked_. I didn't get that until recently. We tried to be there for him, but you're what he needed. And he still needs you. You're not toxic, it's just a toxic situation that got out of hand. And if it can't be salvaged then it can't be, but do you really not even want to try?”

What Len wanted was to run for the door. He suddenly empathized with every time Barry had come to that conclusion, but he didn’t have the luxury of super speed. “Barry’s said his peace. I told you I’m not gunning for him anymore.” 

“He needs more than that. He needs your help,” Cisco said plainly. “He’s still not fighting the IA case.” 

“He’s been doing something,” Len snapped. “He went around the neighborhood today making sure no one who knows his face talks to the police. Told…” He glanced at Lisa. “Told our engineer to say that he made those comms for The Flash instead of me. He’s covering his tracks to protect the people here, but that still helps him too.” 

“Not enough,” Cisco said. “There’s still the picture. That’s worse than the comms, because it proves he knows where you are. They haven’t found anything else, but if they get a judge in a bad enough mood, as long as he refuses to give you up, he could still go to jail, and he’ll never get a job as a CSI again.” 

“So fix it,” Len growled. “You have the ability to do that. Make the picture look fake.” 

Cisco shook his head. “I can’t go behind his back. There’s been too much of that lately. But you’re the one who sent the picture. You could—”

“If you’re expecting me to give myself up—”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Barry would never want that. But fixing this can’t come from me. He needs to know you forgive him. Then he’ll be able to let this go.”

Len’s throat felt thick and closed up from staying tears. “And what if I don’t forgive him?”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Lisa said. 

Len turned a heated glare on her, but she didn’t look smug. Her smile was caring, loving, and yet somehow that just stung worse. “You’d take his side?” he asked. 

“I’d take the side that means you get to be happy.” She reached across the table around his neglected plate of food and took his hand. “Because yeah, that plan of his, it was a shitty thing to do, but he just wanted to get back at someone who’d hurt him. Someone who’d kidnapped and threatened his friends, and betrayed his trust.” Her eyes darted to the side as Cisco smirked. “Notwithstanding my own involvement…it’s sort of understandable. 

“And then, despite all that, when he actually got to know you, learned the caring idiot older brother figure you are who only risks people when he knows they’ll be okay, and only ever killed someone who deserved it…he threw his plan out the window. You’ve missed each other, and lied to each other, and screamed at each other, but somewhere in there, the truth was in the nights you spent together. 

“If he’d known you better before he thought up his plan, it never would have crossed his mind. If you’d realized sooner that he wasn’t going to suddenly reveal a monster beneath his mask, you never would have retaliated the way you did. Not just from being angry. If that was the kind of man you were, I would have pushed you to the breaking point plenty when we were kids. And in present day.” She grinned as she gripped his hand tighter, though he didn’t try to tug out of her grasp. 

Len felt rooted to the spot, heavy and hollowed out. 

“He wasn’t in the right, Lenny. But neither were you. If you’re going to hold this over him, when he just wants to make up for it and be the good person you always thought he was, aren’t you being the same hypocrite you believed of him? Because you don’t think you’re worth loving, but he does. And he doesn’t think he’s worth loving, but you love him anyway. If you could start over with all of this behind you, wouldn’t you want to?”

Len tried to pull his hand back to wipe away the tears filling his eyes, but Lisa held firm, so he reached up with his left instead. This was too bare, too open for either of them to witness of him, in public, even if no one else was watching them. But he couldn’t escape, and he didn’t want to lie. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “We had a good thing going. An understanding. A…rhythm. I’d trade today for last week in a heartbeat. But how could I ever trust him again?”

“How did he start to trust you?” Lisa said, all at once the little girl who’d always swayed him, and the grown woman who amazed him every day. “Time. Experience. Just being with the real you for a while. I’d never tell you to give him another chance if I thought for one moment that he would ever, ever hurt you again. In fact, I’m pretty sure I still owe him a punch to the face on principle. Though it sounds like Mick covered that already.”

“He—” Len’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

Lisa chuckled, but Len didn’t find it funny. He’d missed more about last night’s heist than he’d realized. At last, Lisa let his hand go. “Just think about it, Lenny, before you throw all of your happiness away.”

Len couldn’t believe they’d done this here. In front of _Cisco_. He pressed his thumb and index finger to his eyes to ward off any stray tears, and again he had to wonder, what had Barry done to him? But he knew the answer. 

Barry made him feel wanted and worthwhile for being nothing more than what he was. With Barry, Len could be unmasked too, and he didn’t want to lose that. He just didn’t think it was something he could ever have again.

“Ready for the bill?” Carla walked over to the table, setting down a simple container for Len’s leftovers—leftovers he likely wouldn’t eat, but he imagined himself leaving them in the fridge anyway for reasons he couldn’t yet admit. 

“Put it on my tab, Carla,” he said, staring at the box, but then he pulled on his best smile and looked up at her. “And whatever they have too. I have to head out, but these two still need to eat.” He glanced across at them, and Cisco looked startled, while Lisa merely smirked. They hadn’t meant this as a date, but they might as well have one. 

“I’ll get an extra menu,” Carla said with a kinder smile for Cisco, and headed off again. 

“Lenny…”

Len stood from the booth, fingers dragging along the tabletop. With an elegant finesse, he swept the contents of his plate into the box and closed it. Then his eyes drifted to Cisco. “I won’t promise anything. But I won’t let him go to jail for me, either,” he said, and nodded once to a smiling Lisa before he turned and headed out the door. 

XXXXX

A week ago, Barry had been avoiding Len because he wanted to end things and finally confess his plan. So much had happened in seven days. Barry had no lover, no job, and no idea what would come next. But at least Len and the people of his neighborhood would be safe. 

Yesterday, Barry had walked every street he could think of, entered every business that had seen him, to make sure that IA would hit a dead end if they ever ended up there. It helped, that small but significant task. Some of the emptiness inside of Barry had filled with relief, and maybe even a little peace. For now. He couldn’t think of it as lasting forever, but ‘for now’ was good enough. 

The ache low in his chest still seemed so large, and maybe it would never go away, but it was more manageable when he stopped thinking so big—about saving the city from Scudder, about getting ‘better’ like some nebulous, impossible goal. Instead he’d taken yesterday to think of only one thing: deflecting blame around the comms from Captain Cold onto The Flash. 

Small goals, small achievements, that was easier. Cisco called it ‘gamification for your life’. It provided a sense of accomplishment even if the ends and the means were both small. Eat his allotted meals and snacks to make sure he got a full 10,000 calories. Sleep eight hours, but not more. Help Joe clean the house—after Cisco setup a Miasma Maker to block the reflections. Don’t sit on his bed and stare at the mirror for hours on end, even if it was fogged over now. 

If he felt like he was slipping, like it was all too much again, like he couldn’t breathe or feel, or maybe he just wanted to hit something— _tell someone_. Even if that was as simple as saying, “It’s really bad right now.”

Today, while Barry’s days were limited, not knowing where the IA case would turn next, his goal was equally simple. Have lunch with Iris. The slightly larger, more difficult part was…

Tell Iris everything he’d told Caitlin. 

Barry knew he didn’t need to tell everyone. He hadn’t told his dad, not about what had crossed his mind with the pills before he discovered they were placebos, but he’d told him everything else. He didn’t know if he’d ever tell his dad or Joe that sometimes he’d thought about ending it. Some things were easier to tell certain people in his life than others. But Iris needed to know. Like Caitlin. And Cisco. And…

Barry took a breath. One thing at a time. One step. One goal. 

He walked into Jitters, something so familiar to him, that wonderful smell of coffee beans filling the air, and his stomach rumbled. Thoughts of the shop’s sandwich menu and a large Flash reminded him that the little things could be enough, day by day, as long as he did his best not to get overwhelmed. 

“Barry!” Iris waved him over to a table in the corner. She’d taken an extra-long lunch today so they could take their time. 

It was easier explaining things to Iris than it had been with Caitlin, because now the burden was already shared—admitting to the days when he was younger and a birthday was enough to make him contemplate ending things for good. It was never actually on the day of his mother’s death, always the next day, on his birthday, when he was supposed to be merry and light and laughing with friends. How could he be any of those things when his mother was gone? 

He explained that he’d thought he put all of that behind him years ago. Then he became The Flash, and everything was so good for a while, before Eobard and everyone Barry had lost because of that man spiraled him downward again. He’d been struggling to crawl out of the same deep hole ever since. 

Two rungs higher back into the light only to trip and stumble another three rungs down. Eventually, he hadn’t even had a ladder, and kept ignoring all of the ones thrown down to him. But finally, for the first time, Barry wasn’t doing this alone. If that meant one slow rung at a time, it didn’t matter. It could be enough. 

“I feel like I finally have a plan,” Barry said, holding Iris’s hand across the table, their lunches eaten, their Flashes refilled but getting cool again. “Cisco wants to program one of the extra tablets for me so I can journal about everything. And so he can literally gamify my life with daily goals. Like…a Tetris piece drops whenever I get a good night sleep, or remember to snack between meals, or tell someone if it’s been a bad day, and by the end of the week I’ll have a mosaic or something.” He chuckled, and Iris chuckled with him as she rubbed her thumb along the top of his hand. 

When Barry looked into her eyes, they were so warm, so understanding. That pitying smile was firmly in place, but he knew it just meant that she loved him and was worried about him. “You still look pretty miserable, Barr,” she said, then grimaced for having admitted that. 

Barry laughed and sniffled at the same time. “I am,” he said. “But not trying to do this on my own, or having only one person I can bear my soul to…it helps. Though it makes me feel stupid for keeping it all in for so long.” He pulled from her grasp and reached for his coffee instead to take another lukewarm sip.

“Barry…” 

“I know it’s not stupid,” he spoke into the cup, “it’s…normal. I’m normal for feeling like this. And as awful as that is, it also kind of…helps?” He grinned as he raised his eyes to look at her again, and this time the humor was real. “It doesn’t feel like the same weight when other people are carrying it with me. I still feel that emptiness… But for the first time in maybe my whole life, I don’t want to just accept that like penance.” 

Iris regarded him with that critical eye that made her such a good reporter. “Then why aren’t you fighting the IA case, Barry?”

“That’s different,” Barry glowered. 

“How?”

“Because that guilt I earned.” He held up a hand. “And I know that just sounds like the exact same thing, but I did break the law.” 

“True,” Iris agreed grudgingly. “And maybe not for all the right reasons. But do you think Snart belongs in prison?”

“Of course not,” Barry answered without pause. “For what? For punishment? Prison should be about rehabilitation, and he doesn’t need that either. He’s not a bad man. He helps people more than he hurts. And I know that’s not fair, it’s not how the world works—”

“I get it, Barry,” Iris broke in, her sympathetic stare shrouded in serious purpose. “So tell me. Do you really think you should go to jail just because you don’t want him to? I know this isn’t how the world works, but nothing about you is how the world works. You’re The Flash,” she said in a whisper barely loud enough for Barry to hear, let alone any patrons. “You want to do good by someone who does good by others, because to you it’s the right thing. That’s wonderful, Barry. It’s part of why I love you. But you said you weren’t sitting by and accepting penance anymore, so if that isn’t what this is, then what is it?”

Barry stared at his coffee. There were no words he could use to answer her. He didn’t want to die for his sins anymore—at least, most of the time he didn’t—but someone had to pay for what had happened, and Barry wouldn’t let that be Len.

“Maybe the only person who needs to pay is Scudder,” Iris said, jarring Barry from his thoughts, and making him wonder if he’d said some of that out loud. “But until such a time comes that anyone is paying for anything…you need a break.” She smiled. “So I am paying for the movie we’re about to see and there is nothing you can do about it.” 

“Movie?” Barry sat up straighter. “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

“I may have fibbed a little when I said I took a long lunch. More like…the rest of the afternoon. Movie skip day?” The words and playful edge to her voice immediately brought Barry back to high school. 

He’d had a particularly rough day with Tony Woodward near the end of Freshman year, so Iris had taken him aside, and instead of telling the teachers or calling Joe, they’d ditched school to go see _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. They’d gotten in so much trouble, though Joe was more forgiving once they explained their reasoning. Even so, movie skip day became a tradition after that. 

At least once a year, they always ditched one day of school together to go see a movie. It was never planned ahead of time, just a day when one or both of them needed to get out, and somehow the other was always ready for it, always there to say—movie skip day? _Hell yes._

They’d done it a few times in college too, even though they hadn’t gone to the same school, and even a couple times as adults, but not in recent memory. Not last year. Maybe not the year before that either. Today felt like it needed to make up for every time they had missed their opportunity to play hookie for the right reasons. 

“I’m thinking _Finding Dory_ or a horror movie,” Iris said, as she hopped down from her stool and downed what looked to be the last of her coffee. “And you can have Milk Duds, but I get Buncha Crunch with the popcorn.”

Barry scrambled out of his stool after her as she headed for the door, barely believing they were doing this, something that was equally mundane and yet everything he’d never think to ask for. “We just ate lunch,” he giggled as he eyed her skeptically.

“Please. Like that’s ever stopped us before.” 

“Iris.” Barry snatched up her wrist before she could reach the exit and pulled her back toward him. “I love you so much right now.” 

She turned, beaming brightly at him, and had her arms around his neck before he realized how much he needed a hug right now. “I love you too. You’re my best friend, Barry. I’ll always love you. I’ll always need you in my life. And I’ll always be there when you need me. For every hard to confess truth, and every terrifying horror movie I drag you to that means you’ll wake up at three in the morning and text me how much you hate me.” 

Barry laughed, because that had definitely happened more than once. He squeezed a little tighter before he let her go. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said. “Always, Barry. Really.” Then a sinister quirk to her lips reminded Barry of who he was dealing with. “But I’m leaning toward horror movie. It’s the middle of the day. Can’t be too bad, right?”

Barry trailed after her as she turned back to head out the door. “I love you,” he said again, “but you are also a little evil.”

XXXXX

Sam threw the black suit he’d stolen from The Flash across the Mirror Maze, where it struck the side of a mirror into Jitters’ front windows and crumpled to the voidless black ground without a sound. All this preparation and The Flash had slipped out of his grasp at the last second. 

Sam should have made his move Monday night, in Flash’s bedroom while the speedster was at his lowest. He’d considered it, but he thought he had more time, thought Flash would crack further under the pressure, thought Cold would cut him out completely, but neither of those things had happened. Flash had gone around playing Good Samaritan yesterday, and Cold…he might have ruined everything with the stunt he’d pulled. 

Sam had ways around what Cold was trying to do—they weren’t getting out of this that easily—but the time for waiting for the right moment was over. Flash was still weak, still vulnerable, even if the reflections in his home were off limits now just like the ones at STAR Labs. He’d be easy to break, regardless of him having a few good days. 

What Sam wanted now was to make sure that Cold was broken down just as deeply as The Flash. He’d originally only planned to ruin the speedster for this to work, maybe kill Cold or get him thrown in jail after usurping his status in the city, but now this was personal. Flash was so easy to chip away at, but Cold had his weak points too. Sam was going to bring them both to their knees.

He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and took a breath as he reached down to retrieve the black Flash suit—his treasure, as if it had been made especially for him. He could make this all work in his favor. Make it worse for them. Make them suffer, no matter how they tried to protect themselves or each other. 

This city was his, and they were going to learn that the hard way. 

XXXXX

It was 4PM when Barry and Iris got out of the movie, and while Iris had said she didn’t have to go back to work, Barry insisted she do so anyway. He had a message on his burner phone waiting for him. It was from Joe telling him that Singh wanted him at the precinct ASAP. Which had been sent about twenty minutes ago while Barry’s phone was turned off for the movie. Great. 

Iris smiled at him supportively, but didn’t try to convince him again that he should fight the investigation. The jig was probably up now. Maybe they’d found something else. Maybe IA had been led to the electronics shop in Len’s neighborhood just like Barry had expected, but everything had blown up in his face rather than deflect onto The Flash. Maybe none of that mattered, and the picture of him and Len kissing was all Singh and Internal Affairs needed to arrest him, and they’d only asked him to come in politely to help minimize a public scene. 

Regardless, Barry didn’t feel hollow about it. He didn’t feel empty or numb. But he didn’t feel scared or angry either. Some of that peace had settled in his chest again, because he’d done everything he could to protect Len, and maybe now Len would finally believe Barry and find some peace for himself.

Singh must have done a good job of keeping things quiet about the investigation, because no one who saw Barry walking through the precinct gave him any sideways glances, just smiled or went about their business. And then Barry passed Choi and Anderson, but while he expected cold stares, even Choi offered him a small smile that was almost…apologetic. 

“Get in here, Allen. Close the door,” Singh ordered Barry like he had the other day.

Barry complied without a word and moved to sit in the chair across from him. Barry’s cell phone, the comms, the photograph, it was all spread before Singh in numbered plastic bags. The nerves Barry hadn’t felt before surged up in him now. This was it. They didn’t need any more days to know that he was guilty. 

“Here.” Singh picked up the bag with Barry’s phone in it and chucked it at him across the desk. Barry caught it clumsily. “Hard enough getting a hold of you most days. You’re still suspended for the rest of the week without pay. But I expect you back to work on Monday.” Barry’s eyes flashed up from the bag to look at Singh, whose expression was a cool mask. “Try to be on time for once.”

“Sir?” Barry had to have heard him wrong.

“Can’t get out of something like this with zero punishment. You still misplaced evidence.”

“Misplaced? Sir—”

“But considering you did all of this to protect _The Flash_ ,” he said pointedly, “the mayor is willing to be lenient. So don’t push your luck.”

“But sir,” Barry couldn’t this go; he set his phone back on the desk, “what about the photograph? I never denied—”

“Are you listening to me, Allen?” Singh’s eye twitched with impatience. “We know everything. The comms led us right to him. Considering Joe’s involvement with The Flash on several cases, it wasn’t a surprise to learn you’ve been helping him behind our backs too, but enough is enough. Once the team finished authenticating the photograph, it wasn’t hard to figure out that Scudder was the one who doctored it.” 

“Scudder? You think…” Barry couldn’t form the words, couldn’t finish his thought because the picture had been _altered_ , made to look fake, but by who? Cisco? No. He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“The combination of footage from various sources is practically superhuman,” Singh said, picking up the photograph’s evidence bag and tossing it toward Barry. “Would have to be a composite from Scudder given what The Flash has told us of his abilities. We get it, Allen,” he said with a subtle shift of sympathy in his expression. “It’s over. Scudder was trying to get you out of the picture for helping The Flash, and you couldn’t come clean without implicating The Flash yourself.”

No, that wasn’t what happened. But as Barry picked up the photograph to examine it, he could see the signs, the differences that proved the photograph was fake, even though _that_ was what had been doctored. The job was flawless, such a perfect alteration that it still seemed believable as real but couldn’t be authenticated as anything but a forgery. If it hadn’t been Cisco… 

Len? The security he had in his apartment was stellar, Barry had expected that, but maybe his tech guy wasn’t Arden Andrews Junior. The craftsmanship on the photograph was too good. Was Len working with Hartley Rathaway? And he’d called in a favor for _Barry_?

“Unfortunately, another photograph came in earlier today that places Snart in the neighborhood after all.” 

Barry’s attention shot up again. 

“Probably how Scudder was able to create such a convincing photograph of both of you, if you were in the same neighborhood at some point. So far I’m the only one who’s seen this one,” Singh produced a fresh manila envelope that he tossed to Barry as well, “but we’ll have to send uniforms back that direction to keep an eye out for him. Could be that Snart and Scudder are working together—”

“Sir, wait,” Barry said the moment he opened the folder and saw a picture of Len on the street near Janey’s bakery, complete with hat and shades to stay under the radar. “When did you say you received this photograph?”

“A few hours ago. Why?”

“After authentication finished?”

“Yes. Why does it matter?”

The surge of hope that had filled Barry was quickly replaced with churning nerves. “And they worked on all of the evidence in the main labs?” He held up the folder before passing it back to Singh. 

“I believe so,” Singh accepted the picture. “Are you heading toward a point?” 

The main labs had more reflective surfaces than Barry’s. Len might have made sure that the original photo came out looking fake, but Scudder was the one who’d sent the new one—to trap them, to keep the danger looming even after Len tried to save Barry. If Barry allowed Singh to let him off the hook, the police would just end up in Len’s neighborhood again until they forced the truth out of the people there, or caught Len on the streets themselves. 

“Sir,” Barry braced himself for the only way he could see out of this, “there’s more to the story than you know.”

“Allen…” Singh rubbed the bridge of his nose as if staying off a Barry Allen sized headache.

“Cold’s been working with The Flash to help bring Scudder down, not the other way around. I know he’s a fugitive, but you can’t go after him—”

“Can’t?” Singh stood from his desk, an exasperated surge that sent his chair rolling backward. “You’re finally off the hook with this mess, and now you’re telling me I _can’t_ arrest someone who belongs behind bars? After getting framed around Snart, you’d think you’d be done with him. Do you want to go to jail that badly?”

Barry squared his shoulders. “The Flash has worked with Captain Cold before—”

“The Flash doesn’t work for me!” Singh erupted. “Letting him handle some of this meta human nonsense and even a few cases where normal criminals like Snart are upping the stakes, that’s a necessary evil. If The Flash wants to use people like Snart to help him take down worse villains like Scudder, he can do as he likes. But I can’t turn a blind eye to a fugitive walking free. The Flash isn’t my employee, Allen. You are.” 

“I know that, sir, but there’s something else you need to know.” 

Singh sighed in frustration as he leaned forward on his desk. “And what is that?”

Len was going to be upset no matter how this ended, so he might as well be safe. Barry just hoped the rest of his friends and family would understand. 

He stood from his chair and faced down Singh without flinching. “I’m The Flash.” 

TBC...


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry faces Singh's wrath, only to quickly head toward his biggest challenge yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing beats LiselleVelvet's internal monologue for Singh of 'hoe don't do it!'
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your comments last chapter, since that one was a doozy that threw me for a loop while writing. I'm so glad it turned out well, and accomplished everything I wanted. 
> 
> Apologies that this chapter is a tad shorter, and the next one might be too, but it just would have been way too long if I mashed them together, and I really like ending this one here. Even if it is another cliffhanger. Just...pretty much expect every chapter to end that way for a while. :-)

“I’m The Flash.” 

Singh stared at Barry, unmoved. 

“I _am_ ,” he insisted, pressing a hand to his chest. 

“Allen…” Singh dropped his eyes to his desk with a deep sigh.

“I can prove it.”

“No, don’t—”

At lightning speed, Barry zipped around the desk until he stood just off of Singh’s right. The captain didn’t even flinch, just turned to Barry with a sag of his shoulders and prominent scowl. Maybe he was in shock. 

“Want to arrest the vigilante, Captain?” Barry spread his arms. “I won’t run.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Singh barked, just as intimidating as ever, despite learning—for the first time; wasn’t it?—that Barry was the super-powered hero who had saved Central City. “All of this, for Snart? You’re going to throw away any remaining shred of plausible deniability I had for that crook?” 

Barry’s jaw dropped as Singh stepped into his personal space. 

“Of course you’re The Flash. I’m not an idiot. I was actually a detective before I got this position, if you can believe it. Not that you’ve made any effort to make figuring out your identity a challenge.”

“But I…” Barry floundered for what to say. “How…? _When_ …?”

Just like Barry was used to from the captain, Singh faced him completely unimpressed. “As soon as the Streak, or Blur, or whatever they first called you, showed up, and I had a report on my desk from a known mugger with a description of someone who looked a lot like Barry Allen moving at impossible speeds.”

Oh… _Shit_. Barry should have known his initial hubris over having super powers would come back to bite him in the ass. 

“Had about a dozen confirmations this past year, but even if I didn’t…” Singh leaned forward, causing Barry to lean slightly back. “Funny how your cell phone disappeared when IA was first patting you down. You said you left it at home. You also said you were only ten minutes away, already headed to the station when I _called_ you on it.” 

Barry’s stomach flipped. He’d been in such a rush, so frazzled that day, he hadn’t realized… 

“Allen, what are you doing?” Singh finally leaned back with a touch of that strained sympathy in his expression. “Why all this mess over Snart?”

Actually having Singh understand, that he’d been aware all along that Barry was The Flash, let all the air out of Barry’s resolve. Now he had to be honest about so much more than just his identity. 

“The picture isn’t fake, is it?” Singh said quietly.

Barry shook his head, staring more at the captain’s shirt than his eyes. “No, sir.”

“Is it because he knows you’re The Flash? Is he holding that over you—”

“ _No_ ,” Barry’s eyes shot up, “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Singh’s hands found their customary resting place at his hips. “He’s helping you with Scudder, fine. But you’re sleeping with him? The Flash is harboring a fugitive?” He shook his head as he turned back toward his desk and stared down at the photograph of just Len. “I haven’t shown this to anyone yet, knew there was more going on, but I didn’t think…” His face was pinched but not really angry. Barry didn’t think he’d ever seen the captain look so conflicted. “You got me in a box here, Allen. Do you realize the position you’ve put me in?” 

“Captain—”

“At least tell me why?” He whirled on Barry. “Why Snart? You’re the one who helped us put him away. _Twice_.”

“I know…” Barry couldn’t help thinking back to that first encounter, and then to the last one with Lewis. Well…not the last one anymore. 

There was so much grief wrapped up in their beginning, even before Barry had ruined things with his awful plan to make Len fall in love with him, but somehow it had still been so much…fun. The Flash and Captain Cold. Len wasn’t like the other villains. He had style, and a plan, and a way about him that excited Barry. But more than that, he’d given Barry hope that someone could change, that _anyone_ could change and be better than what they expected of themselves. 

“It’s a long story, Captain. There are so many reasons. But I guess the only one that matters is…” Barry smiled, small and maybe a little sad but real as he met Singh’s gaze. “I’m in love with him.”

Singh turned away like that was the last thing he wanted to hear right now. 

“I don’t compromise cases for him,” Barry added quickly. “I hid the comms because I was there that night; it was Scudder at the museum. Cold protected me.” Sure, Len had been about to steal the diamond himself, and Barry had maybe decided to let him…but he never said he was thinking clearly! 

“You mean _last_ week,” Singh looked at him skeptically. “This week it was just Cold.”

“And Heat Wave. But Len gave his half of the paintings back.”

Singh’s nose scrunched in disgust, maybe for the half of the paintings that hadn’t been returned, maybe for Barry calling Len by an endearment. “What are you expecting me to do here, Allen? Let Cold get away with his past? With his crimes? Theft, murder—”

“He didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Singh slammed his hand down on the desk. “He’s a criminal. He broke the law. The exceptions we make for The Flash can’t be made for just anyone. They shouldn’t even be made for you! But the world is falling apart around us with all these metas, and holes opening in the sky. The city needs you.” 

Barry nodded, because he knew Singh was right, he understood what he was saying, but if nothing was black and white, then maybe nothing should be. Maybe the trick was to never settle for a routine or expectations, but to make each decision as it came. 

“Part of this city…maybe all of this city, needs Cold too,” Barry said, and wouldn’t back down when Singh groaned and tried to turn away again. “He never knows anything about my life as a CSI. The comms were the only time that’s ever happened. But I work with him as The Flash sometimes. You know that. He’s bad news, maybe, but he’s trying to be better. He is. 

“I’m supposed to be the good guy,” Barry’s voice cracked, enough to make Singh pause and look at him with sympathy mixed with his disappointment. Barry shrugged with a ruined smile. “And I’ve been doing nothing but bad lately. Because I fall in love with the wrong people. I always have. But if anyone deserves to be an exception, it’s Leonard Snart. He’s saved me more than once. He’s just trying to do it again.”

Barry nodded to the scattered evidence on Singh’s desk, and the captain’s eyes swept over it all with recognition dawning when his gaze fell upon the original photograph. 

Choi and Anderson thought Barry was helping The Flash. So did anyone else who’d learned of this and saw the evidence. But Singh…he had a new photo, and he’d just heard Barry confess enough to land his ass right in jail anyway. Barry had been prepared to accept that sacrifice, he’d accept any sacrifice to protect Len, but it seemed that no one in his life was willing to let him make it. 

Slowly, methodically, Singh placed the new photograph back into its folder and closed it. He snatched up the bags of no longer needed evidence, even Barry’s phone that had ended up on the edge of the desk. With the folder picked up to join the rest, he pushed the bundle into Barry’s arms. 

All limbs and flailing surprise, Barry accepted the items, while struggling to right it all to keep from dropping anything. 

“This can go away quietly, Allen,” Singh said, his face a stone mask and voice stiff. “But you get caught again, if _he_ gets caught again, I can’t brush any of this under the rug a second time.” A touch of that sympathy, of something so much deeper than the frustration Barry was used to from the captain, broke into his expression. “You love him? The Flash loves Captain Cold?” he huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. “You think he’s worth that?” 

A day that could have ended with Barry in cuffs had turned out unexpectedly brighter and ended so much better than he ever could have guessed. Not because of his own efforts—in fact, he might have made things worse if Singh hadn’t been so understanding—but because of Len. 

“He is. Better than me most days. Other people just don’t get to see that. I know this is asking a lot of you, sir. I won’t ask again. I won’t ask for anything else. Just…let The Flash worry about Captain Cold,” Barry said with a wry smile. 

Singh shook his head, but the crease in his brow betrayed a strained fondness that Barry didn’t think was his imagination. “Just make sure you both bring in Scudder. Because I’m starting to get the feeling he’s worse than just a talented thief.”

The smile dropped from Barry’s face, and he clutched the items in his arms all the tighter in his resolve. “You have my word, Captain. We will.”

XXXXX

This could be good, Sam told himself. This could be better. 

Having Flash and Cold built back up only to tumble to the ground that much harder would make their downfall all the sweeter. It didn’t matter if they had Singh swayed, if Flash was safe from prison, and Cold’s neighborhood was back off the radar. They thought they could thwart him, but they forgot only too easily. 

Sam wasn’t only in the mirrors they paid attention to. Keeping him out of STAR Labs, out of Flash’s home. No, no, that didn’t deter him. Sam could be anywhere. He could be everywhere. So when the moment was right, with the right mirror, and after the right amount of time to think they might be free of him, that was the moment when he would make his move. 

XXXXX

Barry destroyed both photographs, but he kept the comms. Len deserved to get them back this time. Then, with his burner phone safely tucked away, he used his real phone to let everyone know that the danger of his impending doom had passed. 

Cisco was ecstatic, Caitlin calm but encouraging, and Iris and Joe insisted that while a celebration didn’t seem appropriate, family dinner was an absolute must—Cisco and Caitlin included. Barry’s dad even planned on visiting soon. 

Henry broached the subject carefully when Barry called him, as if afraid Barry wouldn’t want him to come home. But of course Barry did. He missed his dad so much. He’d never wanted him to leave. 

“How about this weekend, Slugger? You know, I think it might be time to leave all this peace and quiet behind, and come back home for good. Whadda ya say? Only if I wouldn’t cramp your style too much, of course.”

The humor in Henry’s voice made Barry smile as he talked with him, walking down the streets of Central City at a casual pace. “I’d like that, Dad. I want you home. You could never be in the way. I just want to be able to see you more. But I don’t want you coming back just for me. I get why you needed to leave. If you need more time… _whatever_ you might need…”

“Thank you, Barry. I did need time. Not away from you. But for myself. I’m ready to come home. I miss you, kiddo. Thought it would drive me nuts worrying about you being The Flash if I could just flip on the news and hear all about it, but being away only makes it worse. I’ve missed out on too much of your life. I want to be there for whatever comes next.”

Barry smiled wider into the phone, stopping at an intersection to wait for the blinking walk sign. “I want that too. How about Saturday? It’s just a little crazy here still. I have a super villain to worry about, you know, but I think we know how to handle him.” Barry crossed the street and nodded to the people he passed.

“I thought there were two super villains you were worrying about,” Henry said, a hint of leading in his tone that wasn’t at all subtle.

Barry had told his dad about Len. The good and the bad. So far Henry had remained infuriatingly impartial about what Barry should do, but even if Barry hoped that Len might give him another chance, he didn’t expect it. Keeping Barry out of jail just meant that Len forgave him enough not to hate him or wish him ill. It wasn’t an olive branch or an invitation.

Barry owed Len a thank you at least. He owed him more truth than he’d shared so far. And more apologies than he could ever say.

“He saved me, Dad. In so many ways. I just want to see him again. To thank him. To make sure things between us end better than they were before, even if we never…” Barry paused and took a breath as he looked down the street…at Len’s building quickly approaching.

“Just do me one favor, Barry,” Henry said.

“Anything, Dad.”

“Don’t forget how much you’re worth. Whoever you love, whoever you want to spend your life with someday…”

Barry’s cheeks flushed at the thought.

“…make sure that person recognizes how lucky they are to have you.”

The heat spread to Barry’s eyes, making them sting with the threat of tears, but he held them back. Not today. Today was a better day. “I will, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you too, Slugger. See you Saturday.”

“Saturday,” Barry nodded. Hopefully by then they’d have a finalized plan to get rid of Scudder.

After Barry hung up, he came to a stop outside Len’s apartment building and stared at the third floor windows wondering if he was doing the right thing. But he didn’t want to wait. He didn’t want to run. He wanted to start fresh and do things better the second time around. If Len wanted nothing more to do with him, then…well…that was okay too.

XXXXX 

_IA case closed. However things went down, looks like Flash is off the hook._

Len looked down at his phone, unable to stop the twitch of a smile that caught his mouth as he read Hartley’s message. Len had been the one to start this mess, and at the time he’d felt justified, but he was glad to have it behind him now. To have all of this behind him…except for one thing. Seeing Barry again and deciding what he’d do next. 

There was also Scudder. Whatever remaining rage Len might feel for how these past few weeks had gone, he’d channel that into facing down that cruel meta human as soon as they found him. 

_Good work, Hart. I owe you._

_Arty says all is forgiven if we break that no double date rule. Apparently he’s a Flash fanboy. I may have made a terrible mistake._

Len chuckled, but his smile turned sour quickly at the thought of a date with Hartley, Arty, and…Barry. He couldn’t dwell on any of that or he’d start to hope, to want, and that was dangerous before he knew whether or not he had it in him to forgive Barry. 

_Be safe_ , Len answered simply, and slid his phone into his pocket. 

He entered his bathroom to assess himself in the mirror. Now that some of the coast was clear of potential uniforms on his streets, he wanted to get out. Relax. Shake off the feeling of being imprisoned by his own walls. His cuts and bruises from Barry, Scudder, and Dunkirk were faded remnants now, some still visible but mostly gone. He wore a simple grey sweater and black jeans. He’d leave the apartment, get an early dinner, and track down Mick to hit up Saints and Sinners. He owed Mick an explanation—and a drink. His old friend might be lenient given he’d gotten to keep his half of the paintings.

Part of Len imagined texting Barry, just to see if he was okay, just to say…that he was sorry too. And how unlike him that was made him stare all the harder at his reflection. 

He couldn’t stomach the thought of another heist any time soon. Maybe in six months, back to his usual routine. But he needed a change of pace, something…different. His life felt suddenly empty with the hollow gap of unknown spread between him and Barry.

Len considered taking the cold gun, but thought against it, and grabbed his leather jacket before leaving. The hallways were quiet as he locked up behind him. He didn’t realize that they weren’t quite empty until he’d gone down the stairs to the second floor and discovered a familiar brunette sitting on the steps leading to the first. The figure faced away from Len, but he’d know that silhouette anywhere.

Len reached for the cold gun that wasn’t there on instinct before he chastised himself for being such a fool—about everything. His pace slowed but he continued toward the stairs.

“Waiting on someone?” 

Barry startled, nearly falling off the bottom step as he looked up over his shoulder with wide, clear eyes. No tears this time, just his cell phone clutched in his hands that he shoved into his pocket when he stood. “Hey,” he said, quiet like an exhale. “I…I wasn’t sure if I was gonna come in.” 

They stared for a moment, Barry on the first floor, Len on the second.

“Something you wanted, Barry?” Len asked eventually, voice cool and expression neutral. For once in his life, he had no plan, no idea what he’d do next. It was terrifying and freeing at the same time as he waited to see where instinct might lead him.

Barry’s hand reached for the railing, his fingers closing around it tightly like he needed something to anchor him. Clear or not, dry or not, his eyes held all of his emotions as if they might overflow at any moment. They seemed to answer Len’s question that the only thing Barry wanted was right in front of him.

Len flinched back when Barry started up the steps. The pain that crossed Barry’s face tore at him, because he hadn’t meant to do that, it was just reflex, just what he’d been used to for so long—fearing closeness and touch from anyone, especially when it was offered with a kind exterior, because that was never the truth, never real. 

But maybe Barry could be. Len wanted him to be real so badly.

“Thank you,” Barry said, one hand still back on the railing as he reached the top of the landing. “For the photo. Guess I won’t be spending the next few years behind bars after all,” he offered Len a meager smile. “You’ll have to thank Hartley for me.”

Len shifted, remembering not to be too open and trusting. There was a reason he had so many walls. “Don’t know what you mean, Barry,” he said with a slight smirk.

Barry rolled his eyes but didn’t lose his smile. They stood facing each other only a handful of feet apart, and it felt too close and too far all at once. “Few people are as talented as Cisco with things like that. Hartley’s one of them. Pretty sure that was him in Andrews Electronics who ran away from me, right?” He held up a hand before Len could deny that. “I’m glad he’s somewhere safe, and staying out of trouble.”

“Thought I _was_ trouble,” Len said, purposely cryptic. 

“Not for me.” Barry’s heartfelt puppy eyes made Len’s mind go blank. He’d never worried about that when dealing with The Flash, but with Barry— _damn it_. “I’m the trouble, Len. I’ve been nothing but trouble for you.”

“Barry…” A pang ricocheted through Len’s chest.

“Len, let me just—”

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Len wasn’t angry, but he had to be firm. Cisco didn’t think they were toxic, but they could be. They so easily could be if Barry kept on like this. “The blame isn’t only on you. Everything isn’t always solely your fault. This doesn’t get better by having you punished for it. I had that picture changed because you don’t need to pay for the mistakes we made together.”

Barry looked down at his feet, hunched and small looking. “I know that. I get that now, I do. I just wanted to say how sorry I am for everything. Not just for what I did, but for all the ways I tried to make up for it. Letting Mick hit me, and shoot at me, and the pills…”

“Pills?” Len repeated the word with a flare of anxiety in his chest. “What pills?”

“Uhh…” Barry met Len’s gaze with a hooded look like he wanted to curl in on himself and hide. “I…I didn’t mean to say that.”

“What _pills_ , Barry?” 

“I didn’t actually try to take them.”

“What pills did you have?!”

“They were just placebos from Caitlin! I thought they were antidepressants and—”

“And you were going to take them all?”

“No!” Barry surged forward but held back when Len stiffened. “I wasn’t. I…I thought about it, but I _wasn’t_." 

Len was going to be sick. He was going to throw up all over Barry’s shoes.

“It wasn’t because of you, it was because of me.” Barry held his arms around his middle as if it was the only way to keep him from reaching out. “I told you, I…I’ve been messed up lately, but you made it better. You made it easier.” That same sad smile touched his lips, and he looked so vulnerable and bare suddenly. “Then I had to go and mess that up too.” 

Len shook his head as he backed up a step. He’d hated Barry and he’d hated himself, but this was so much more destructive than he’d realized. “We can’t do this. You need to be away from me. I won’t be your _crutch_.” 

“That’s not—” Barry’s eyes widened in alarm. His arms dropped and he followed after Len. “That’s not what I meant. That’s not what you were. I tried to make you that, tried to use you that way, but I…I liked being with you. Not just sleeping with you, but sharing a meal. Watching a movie. Walking the neighborhood. Being Flash and Cold together. You weren’t a crutch then, you were that feeling of being…” His eyes lit up brighter as his words trailed off. 

“What?” Len prompted him. 

Barry smiled in a way that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “ _Home_. I don’t always feel that way at Joe’s. I haven’t felt that way much of anywhere since Mom… Like I could be me without having to pretend anything. And I know I’m a hypocrite for saying that,” his brow furrowed as his smile dropped, “because I _was_ pretending at first. And I’m sorry for that, Len. I really am. I know I have a long way to go to get better, and the last thing I want is to be a burden on you, but I don’t want to do this without you.” 

He stepped closer again, and again Len wanted to back away. Not because he didn’t want to be near Barry or feel the warmth of him close, but because he _did_ want that, so badly, but he still feared this was a mistake. 

“It’s not because you’re a crutch,” Barry said, looking straight into Len’s eyes, steady and earnest. “Being with you makes me happy. And maybe that sounds like the same thing, and it’s not fair to you, I know that, but I just want to be happy again. I need to find that in myself, I’m working on it, but why does that mean I have to give you up? If…” He inched closer, tentative, like it was days ago and he feared that moving too quickly meant he’d get iced for his troubles. He reached for Len’s hand. “…If you want me too.”

“Barry…” Len trembled as their skin touched, like an electric shock passed through him just from Barry’s fingertips brushing the back of his hand. Len didn’t forgive. Or forget. He didn’t move past pain, he buried it six feet under. Healing never crossed his mind. Building something beautiful out of something that had gone sour never seemed possible. 

But it had been so beautiful in the beginning. Wild, and hot, and electric just like Barry. The slow pace, the sweet words, the deep emotions and calm moments of just being beside each other, that had taken Len by surprise, and he was never snuck up on, never out-maneuvered or out-planned. He couldn’t turn away from this, even if part of him still feared a trap in letting down his guard again. 

He let Barry glide soft fingers around his own and tighten his hold with a gentle grip. Barry’s eyes looked so green, damp but still clear as he moved closer. He smiled enough to crinkle his eyes again, and Len’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

“I love you, Len.”

The air rushed out of his lungs. 

“I should have said it days ago, and I know I don’t deserve to say it at all. I didn’t expect it, didn’t want it when this started. I wanted to wallow in anger and ruin something beautiful, because I didn’t think I’d ever get beautiful for myself. But you changed me.” Barry leaned closer, enough that Len’s breath caught again and he couldn’t bring himself to move. “There is good in you, Len. And there is something rotten in me. Because we’re just people. Heroes and villains, black and white, it’s all bullshit. Part of me wishes I could go back and erase it all. Do it better. Do it differently. But I’ve learned more than once that changing the past doesn’t do anyone any good.”

The sadness and the darkness that Len had noticed behind Barry’s eyes that first night they shared together was still there. But whatever part of this had been fake, Len knew this moment wasn’t. 

“Even if you could never love me again,” Barry said, “and maybe never forgive me, all I’d ever want is for you to see that I’m trying. To be better. To be more like you.” 

Len’s instincts were to pull away, because he wasn’t—

“I saw the good in you that no one else did,” Barry squeezed his hand tighter, like he knew what Len was thinking, “but you were the one changing me. You’re so much more than you think you are. I wish we could…not start over. Not over. Just…again. I wish we could start again.”

Len’s eyes felt hot, and there’d been too many days of that. Barry had cracked him open and left him vulnerable in ways he hadn’t known in years. In ways he’d never allowed with anyone else. He hated it. He _needed_ it. He was addicted, and trapped, and couldn’t breathe for all the ways this might blow up in their faces. 

He mustered the strength to pull his hand away and stepped back from Barry, shaking his head at those haunting, downturned eyes that looked at him with such pleading. 

“Say we solve the old problems,” Len said. "Say we forgive. Move on. What then? What about everything else? I’m a criminal. You’re a hero. You can never be seen in public with me outside the safety of this neighborhood, or behind your mask. Even that’s a risk. What about your family?” Len pushed on when Barry attempted to counter him. “You gonna tell me West approves of this? What about the next time I commit a heist?” He stepped closer, making Barry back up this time. “Because it’s not the same anymore, not after this escalated. And I know that’s on me.”

The sting of vulnerability in Len’s chest wasn’t just from how Barry made him feel, but how Barry made him want to act. Barry had been changing the rhythm of Len’s strides since the moment they met. How could he not? Keeping up with The Flash changed everything. 

“Thought I had you figured out, so I pushed,” Len said, letting any remaining mask over his expression crumble. “I was wrong. I’m sorry I did that to you, Barry. You deserved my anger, but you didn’t deserve that. But what comes next? There are complications to this we won’t even think about until they’re snapping their jaws at us.” 

“I know. You’re right,” Barry said, looking down at his feet again, before he summoned some unseen strength to look up…and smile. “You’re right. But there’s one thing you keep forgetting.”

When Barry didn’t immediately finish his thought, Len readied himself to ask ‘what?’, to find out just what the kid was grinning about, only for the apartment door behind Barry’s back to suddenly open. 

“Oh.” Carla stood there, jacket on but not zipped, while she held the curve of her extended belly. Michael was with her, blinking at Len and Barry owlishly from beside his mother’s legs, which was about the time Len realized that the front of Carla’s shirt and all down her leggings was soaking wet. 

“You _are_ his friend,” Michael said with a triumphant look at Barry. 

“Uhh…” Barry glanced back and forth between Michael, Len, and Carla, clearly noticing the state of her clothes. 

“Carla…” Len stepped toward her vigilantly. “You have more than three weeks to go.” 

“Yep…should have been.” She nodded, then grimaced as she clutched harder at her belly and groaned. 

_Shit._

“Mom got the floor all wet,” Michael said, and as Len and Barry looked to each other with equal shades panic, they could no longer pretend this wasn’t happening.

“Leonard…” Carla groaned again from where she stood in the doorway.

“What do you need?” Len flew to her side, allowing her to lean into him, which eased some of the discomfort from her face. 

“Prep bag,” she wheezed out a few deep breaths, “just inside the door. But this is happening now. Knew she’d be an anxious one,” she chuckled lightly as she breathed a few more times and cringed. “I don’t think I can make it to the hospital.”

“St. Andrews is just off 5th. We can make it.” Barry appeared with the bag in tow from around the door and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, though Len assumed he’d just missed the kid moving, not that Barry had actually used his super speed. 

_Super speed._

“Barry.” Len looked at him with all due seriousness. “Carla can’t go to St. Andrews. Dunkirk has men all over that neighborhood. It has to be Central City General.”

“But that’s…” Barry’s eyes widened. “Halfway across town!”

Len held the kid’s gaze. “I know.”

The color drained from Barry’s face as what Len was really asking him sunk in. “Len…”

“Has Snow done any research on what one of your _trips_ does to a person?”

Barry cringed like he was the one in pain. “Yes, including this exact scenario. She figured it was bound to happen eventually. She’s weirdly thorough like that.” 

“ _And?_ ”

“And everything should be fine! Worst case scenario would be someone being induced _into_ labor—”

Carla groaned louder than before and her knees nearly buckled, but Len managed to keep her upright. 

“…which obviously isn’t an issue right now. Okay.” Barry moved around Michael and crouched down, setting the bag aside as he looked first into Michael’s face, then up at Carla, who seemed understandably confused. “Carla. Michael.” Barry flashed them his best—and entirely unfair—smile. “Can you two keep a secret?” 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is worried, baby Mai is going to be just fine. A month early isn't that bad depending. My oldest nephew was almost exactly a month early, and didn't even have to go into the NICU. he was already 8 lbs! Sometimes they come early for good reason.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Len help welcome a new life into the world and consider a new life for themselves...only for Scudder to make his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...am so sorry. But as the main ending note says...bear with me.

Barry sat with Michael at his right, while Len sat on the boy’s other side, bookending him perfectly with their near identical height. Michael kept looking up at them with childlike awe, but his wonder at sitting between The Flash and Captain Cold on a bench in the hallway just down from the waiting room outside his mother’s door in no way meant that the kid had grown shy. 

Michael had been talking nonstop ever since Barry flashed them to the hospital. First Carla by herself, ensuring she got a wheelchair and a nurse to attend to her before he headed back to the apartment. Then Len and Michael together. 

Half of Barry felt like he should leave, like he didn’t belong in this part of Len’s life, that was so private and personal for him, but the other half understood that the tension in Len’s shoulders and ever-watchful eyes proved how much he cared for this family and would do anything to keep them safe. Barry couldn’t leave him to play vigilant guardian all on his own. 

When Michael was sick of asking Barry how fast he could go and who would win in a race between him and Quicksilver—no contest, Cisco had once stated, and Barry tended to agree in the deepest parts of his nerdy little heart—Barry and Len were able to steer the boy toward topics of his forthcoming little sister. 

“It’ll be cool, I guess.” Michael kicked his legs out and let them swing beneath him. 

“You guess?” Len raised an eyebrow at him, while Barry fought a smirk. 

Michael shrugged, big blue eyes drifting to the floor. “Mom says I hafta be responsible now, help take care of baby Mai and keep her safe. But…what if I’m not good at it?” he said in a small voice. “What if I’m not good at being a big brother?”

Barry’s heart melted for the kid, but Len didn’t falter for even a moment. He nudged Michael’s shoulder with his own. 

“Nothin’ to it, Mikey. Know why?” Len pushed on when Michael shook his head. “Coz it’s always easy to do the things you want to do, right? And you are gonna want more than anything else to keep that baby girl safe. As much as she’ll drive you crazy, and get into your things, and demand your mother’s attention away from you, she’ll also be all yours.” A softness entered Len’s voice as he talked from such obviously personal experience, and the light that touched his eyes made Barry glow with warmth right along with him. “Some days just seeing her is going to be enough to make you feel like you can take on the whole world.”

“Really?” Michael perked up. “Why?”

“Coz you’ll love her. You’ll love watching out for her, even when you have to share your toys. And you will have to share,” Len said firmly, after Michael made a disgruntled face. “And not get angry when she takes what’s yours. But she’ll give much more than she takes if you do right by her. You’ll be her whole world. Tell me. You have someone you look up to?”

Michael sat up taller, and even though Barry couldn’t see his eyes anymore since he faced Len, he imagined the look on the boy’s face was full of devotion. “Course I do,” Michael said. “ _You_.”

The carefully constructed mask Len wore, even while being more open than usual talking about loving a sister unconditionally, gave way as shock passed over his features. He covered it quickly, but he couldn’t hide the way his eyes darted to Barry before he answered Michael. 

“Well then…do you think you’d like it if someone looked up to you that way?”

Michael nodded enthusiastically, and the smile that cracked Len’s mask further made him look so unfairly handsome and soft around the edges. 

“Mai will look up to you like that, and all you have to do is be there for her. Protect her, like your mother said, no matter what, and you’ll be the biggest hero in her life.”

“Like you?” Michael asked whole-heartedly. 

The shock didn’t reappear, but was replaced with an awful sadness that Barry wanted to wipe away and never see on Len’s face again. “I’m not a hero, Mikey. I just do what I have to, to keep those who matter most to me safe.”

“That’s as much of a hero as anyone needs to be,” Barry broke in, causing Michael to turn his round blue eyes on him, which shone even more brilliantly than Len’s in contrast to the boy’s dark skin. “Being a hero doesn’t only mean stopping bad guys, or putting out fires, or…saving people from runaway trains.” Barry glanced up pointedly at Len who fought a smirk and shook his head. “Sometimes it’s just about…giving up the last slice of pizza to someone who needs it more than you. Or giving good advice. Or being there, just to listen…when someone is hurting and needs a friend.” He smiled wider as he felt Len’s eyes focus back on him with a fresh intensity, but he kept his gaze on Michael and leaned in close to whisper, “So don’t let our friend Mr. Cold here get away with saying he’s no hero. We both know better, right?”

Michael nodded with a conspiratorial smile, while Len, when Barry looked at him again, didn’t try to hide any of the melancholy creeping into his expression, or the fondness that played at the corners of his tight smile. There were so many things left unsaid, things they couldn’t say with a ten year old sitting between them. All they could do was meet each other’s gazes and exchange what they wanted to say with a look. 

_You’re better than you think you are_ , Barry said as best he could. 

He imagined Len’s eyes answered him, _I don’t know if that’s true…but I want it to be._

“You got that, Mikey,” Len said, catching the boy’s attention again. “From Central City’s own superhero—you do your best by your sister, and you’ll be a hero to her forever. And to us. Got it?” He held out his hand in a forward facing fist, which Barry thought looked too adorable and out of place but definitely something they’d done before, because Michael raised his own little fist, and they bumped with gentle force. 

Barry got so caught up in looking at Len, in being reminded of all the reasons why he’d come to care for this remarkable man, that he missed at first when Michael tried to get his attention. 

“Mr. Fla—” He cut himself off dutifully, since they’d told him, and his mother had reiterated firmly in the brief moment when they were all alone in the delivery room before the nurses came in and shooed them out, that Barry being The Flash was a big secret to keep. “Um, I mean…Mr. Barry?”

Barry pulled himself from Len’s gaze and cleared his throat before speaking. “Just Barry is fine, Michael.”

“Okay. Barry. Umm…I’m sorry I don’t have a Flash doll.” He’d been sitting so patiently while they waited for the baby to be born, Barry hadn’t realized that the boy had a toy tucked into the deep pockets of his jacket until he reached in and pulled out his Captain Cold figure. 

Barry smiled at its appearance, but then furrowed his brow. “Why are you sorry?”

“Coz I didn’t want one.” Michael held the figure in both hands with reverent care. “Mom was gonna get me one, so I could have both, but I said no, coz you…coz _Flash_ is always fighting Captain Cold. And he saved us, ya know?”

Barry offered Len another genuine, encouraging smile. “I know.” 

“But you’re not fighting now!” Michael straightened again, smiling as he stood the action figure up on top of his legs. “You’re friends, right?”

Those blue eyes…Barry was trapped whether he looked down or up, because Michael was so fervently certain of everything he believed about Len as his personal hero, and Len was so fervently certain that he was no one’s hero—even though Barry did his best to let Len know with only a look the same thing he’d been saying for so long. 

_There is good in you_. He just wanted Len to believe him. 

“More like boyfriends, honey,” Lisa’s voice broke into their quiet reverie, and while at first Barry was startled, then disappointed to be interrupted, it caught up to him all at once that he should actually be terrified.

He wasn’t wearing his mask! And she obviously knew it was The Flash sitting there, even though Barry couldn’t see her yet, since her voice had come from behind him. There was the curve of a corner behind his back, where she must have come from, which was the only explanation for how Len hadn’t noticed her sooner either—that and how he’d been staring back at Barry. 

While Barry’s eyes widened with panic, Len scowled at his sister. “Lisa…”

“Boyfriends? Like…kissing boyfriends?” Michael said, small and hushed like sharing a secret. Lisa snorted from over Barry’s shoulder, making him tense at how much closer she was now, but Michael’s expression was entirely contemplative. “How do people who were fighting become boyfriends?” 

“Very carefully.”

“ _Lisa_.”

“Oh relax, Lenny. You can relax too… _Barry_. I got your number a while ago. Lenny kept your secret, don’t you worry. I’m just clever, is all. I can put a puzzle together.” 

Barry’s shoulders eased out of their tension, even though he should have been more concerned that his secret identity seemed to have become increasingly less secret in the span of a single day. But he trusted Singh. He trusted Carla and Michael more than he probably should too. And even if it wasn’t for Len, Cisco’s faith in Lisa was enough for Barry to want to trust her. 

He turned slowly and looked up over his shoulder with a weak smile. “Hi, Lisa.”

She crossed her arms. She had her brother’s knack for looking effortlessly sexy—hair curled, makeup flawless, a black leather jacket with gold trim over a well-fitted black tank top. Her blue eyes, so like Len’s—and wow, now Barry really was surrounded—swept over his face and down his body with a cold scrutiny. 

“Hmm. Look at you. I get why Lenny’s so obsessed. Had him wrapped around your finger the second he saw those boyish good looks.”

“Impressionable ears, Lise,” Len said through what sounded like gritted teeth. 

“Oh Mikey doesn’t mind, do you, hun?” Lisa squeezed her way onto the bench next to Barry and leaned over him to get closer to Michael, which was the most immediate physical contact Barry had ever had with the Snart sibling aside from threatening to hurt her in the casino. 

How surreal this whole experience was hit Barry with the same impact as Lisa’s vanilla scented perfume. 

“You don’t care if they’re boyfriends, do you?”

Michael shrugged, not even remotely scandalized. “Mom says as long as people don’t hurt each other, anybody can be boyfriends or girlfriends or...whatever they wanna be. You used to hurt each other, but…you’ve stopped now, right?” He seemed particularly concerned about this point, which given his history with an abusive father made Barry’s stomach twist. 

“Right,” Len answered, that sad, tight smile marring his face again. “We don’t hurt each other anymore.” He said it like a promise, but with a sorrow in his voice that betrayed how he doubted they could avoid hurting each other indefinitely. 

Did anyone ever manage that? What Dunkirk had put Carla and Michael through was despicable. What Barry and Len had put each other through was different, but its own kind of despicable. All Len saw was how easily they could be that way again, but Barry clung to the hope that what they’d been through didn’t define who they were to each other. It didn’t have to be a sign of the future, but if it ever was, Barry would be the first one to walk away. 

“Then you can be boyfriends,” Michael said succinctly. “I like that better than you being enemies.”

“Nemeses,” Barry and Len said in unison, which made them tumble into choked laughter when they caught each other’s eyes. 

Lisa snorted again from beside Barry. “Well you’re both dorks, so that’s a bonus. But I think I agree with the kid here,” she said, leaning forward to smile at Barry while patting Michael’s leg. 

“How did you know to come here?” Len asked with a note of suspicion.

“Carla texted me.” 

“She’s in labor,” Barry sputtered. 

Lisa shrugged like that was no big feat for a woman like Carla. “She worried you two would be too mortified by the whole affair to think of calling her mother for her.” 

Barry glanced at Len, who had a definite look of, _Oh shit_ , all over his face now that Lisa had said that. 

“I took the liberty,” Lisa assured them. “She’ll be here soon. Lives in Keystone. Nana’s gonna take you home tonight, buddy,” she reached over to pat Michael’s leg again. 

He pouted. “Can’t I stay with Mom and Mai? Who’ll look after ‘em if I go home with Nana?”

“If everything goes well, which it will,” Len spoke up, “your mother will be able to come home tonight too. Or at least by morning. If she has to stay the night, we’ll stay with her, okay?”

Barry assumed Len meant that he and Lisa would stay, but in the moment, it seemed to mean the two of them, and Barry’s heart fluttered at higher than normal speeds to be a part of that elusive ‘we’.

Michael nodded, fully trusting of these Rogues on either side of him, who proved that they were decent, normal human beings more and more with every moment Barry spent with them. Why did so many people think that being good had to mean so much more than looking out for one’s own? It was simple when people let it be simple. Being good. Being happy. Being whole. What tripped people up was in thinking they had to be all three of those things all the time. 

The door to the hospital room opened, and the doctor came out with a sheen of perspiration over her forehead and a kind smile. Her eyes darted between Len and Barry as the four of them stood from the bench.

“Father?”

“Oh…uhh…” Barry looked to Len for help.

“Not in the picture, doc.” Len rolled his eyes. “Carla’s mother’s on her way.”

“Other than that,” Lisa jumped in, “you’re looking at most of the family she’s got.”

The doctor nodded, never once losing her smile. “Well, she asked for everyone, so I’ll allow it, but try to keep it brief for now. Mama and baby are doing fine, but they need their rest.” She gestured behind her into the room.

Michael didn’t wait for more of an invitation. He darted out from between Barry and Len and dove past the doctor into the room. Len led the way for the rest of them at a more cautious pace, and nodded to the doctor as they passed her.

Again Barry thought that he didn’t really belong here, sharing in this life-altering event between a woman he’d only just met and his once enemies. _Nemeses_. But as they moved into the room, Lisa gripped his elbow to slow him. The gesture didn’t carry any threat or sharp nails, just a gentle squeeze and a look in her eyes of simple support. 

Barry smiled back at her. He and Len were done hurting each other, and he would do everything in his power to get the chance to make this up to him. 

Michael was already climbed up onto the edge of the hospital bed when they entered, sitting at Carla’s hip with his Captain Cold figure resting on the nearby table, eyeing the tiny bundle in his mother’s arms. Carla looked worn but still with that jubilant glow Barry always heard everyone talking about. 

He held back while Len and Lisa went up on either side of the bed. The nurse said she’d be back in a few minutes, the doctor already gone, leaving them alone, while the baby, hastily cleaned and wrapped tight in a blanket for Carla to hold, looked content and so, so tiny. Barry had never seen a newborn before. Goodness, she looked wrinkled and delicate.

“Everything okay coming almost a month early?” Lisa asked with a broad smile.

Carla nodded exhaustedly. “Still over six pounds. She was ready. This is baby Mai.” She tugged open the top of the blanket to better show her off to everyone, Michael in particular who leaned in close and reached out a finger to tap her chubby cheek. “Mai _Lenore_ ,” Carla added, with a slight smirk for Len. “Mikey…?” She lifted the baby toward her son, but he shook his head vigorously.

“Hey, we talked about this. You can do it,” Len said, walking up close behind Michael.

“Why don’t you show him then?” Carla raised an eyebrow at him. 

Len stiffened just as noticeably as Michael had. “Lenore huh? Sounds suspiciously sentimental—”

“Shut your trap, Leonard Snart, and hold your god-daughter,” Carla commanded. It was a motherly tone through and through, though Carla wasn’t much older than Lisa, making her several years younger than Len, yet the pull she had on him was evident. A reminder of his own mother, which warmed Barry, because it was an awful, terrible thing they had in common—absent mothers—yet neither of them was short on strong women in their lives. 

Barry’s cheeks were starting to hurt from watching the interactions of this…family. Len gave in and allowed Carla to pass over her tiny bundle. The life-long thief handled Mai with all the gracefulness and attentive care as he fine-tuned his cold gun or cracked a safe. Those hands were practiced with caring for a baby girl, and while Barry rarely saw Len physically close with anyone, even his grown sister, he held Mai with an expression of peace overtaking him that Barry had rarely seen. 

Barry was so in love with this man. For many reasons, but this—the contrast of hard and soft, of cold and warm, of _Cold_ and Len, reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to make this work. 

“You’re setting her up for Edgar Allen Poe jokes her whole life,” Len smirked, his eyes never leaving the baby’s face as he held her and fell into an automatic sway. 

“Oh hush,” Carla chuckled. “She’ll manage.”

Lisa went around the bed to join Len, looking eager for her turn, and Barry felt the urge to back away, to slip out of the room quietly and not disrupt the scene. 

“Come over here, Flash, and don’t you even think about leaving,” Carla called to him, startling Barry at suddenly being included. She waved her hand to emphasize her point, and Barry took a few cautious steps forward to fill in the empty space at Carla’s right that Lisa had left behind. “Might have had my baby girl in that hallway if not for you.” She reached out her hand, which Barry took obediently. “Your secret’s ours for life, I promise. Never would have guessed you two would be…well,” she passed her gaze to Len. 

Barry huffed a laugh as he squeezed her hand. “Yeah…he’s better at keeping secrets than I am.”

“There’s an understatement,” Lisa muttered.

They were all smiles, and gentle laughter, and quiet exhaustion. But as Carla released Barry’s hand, his eyes met Len’s across the bed and there was an electricity that sparked between them, almost as tangible as the Speed Force.

“Oh my god, did we miss it?” a voice preceded the arrival of two women who burst into the room like a whirlwind. It wasn’t until they had both surrounded the bed and Barry stepped back that he recognized the one who had spoken as Shawna Baez. 

His eyes widened, and he caught sudden, challenging stares from Len and Lisa in tandem that he quickly shook his head at. He should have known, given Hartley’s involvement—he wondered who else Len was in close contact with—but he wouldn’t do anything about it, not without good reason. He had a feeling he knew who Len’s nurse was now though.

The other woman with Baez was older, obviously Carla’s mother with how much she commanded attention and insinuated herself at her daughter’s side, then her grandson’s, and finally accepted baby Mai from Len. There was a bustle of questions and greetings, and “Now you sit right there, Mikey, so you can try out holding this baby sister of yours,” while Barry tried to keep his face hidden when Shawna looked to him in question. 

He didn’t think she knew, but there was a curiosity and the faint glimmer of recognition on her face. As the women all gushed and chatted, and Michael tentatively accepted his sister into his arms finally, Len moved to join Barry at the edge of the room. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, hushed and private for being somewhat crowded in a small hospital room. “You don’t have to stick around. I’ll keep watch.”

“Oh. Right.” Barry nodded, even as his stomach bottomed out at being dismissed. “Sure. But I can stay anyway. If you want. In case anyone…” he didn’t want to say ‘Dunkirk’ too loudly in present company. “…you know. Plus I didn’t get to finish what I meant to say before,” he added, softly whispered between them, bodies close for discretion’s sake, which made Barry’s heartrate pick up speed again. 

Len’s eyes took him in with indecision dancing in their depths. 

“Please,” Barry said before any further words of dismissal could leave him. “I don’t care if you’re a criminal. We made it work before, we can make it work again. It doesn’t change how I see you. Nothing could. And I don’t care what Joe thinks. He was more concerned with me letting myself rot in prison than sleeping with you. And everyone else?” He pushed on when Len looked ready to retreat. “Surprisingly supportive. All of them. As long as I’m sure about you, and that is something I could never doubt again. All this mess, the one thing you’re forgetting about how it could work, do you know what that is yet?” 

Len blinked at him, brow knit as he recalled where their conversation had been interrupted before. “What?” he asked quietly.

Barry leaned the smallest bit closer so that they were practically sharing breath. Len smelled like his cologne, heady and strong. “You’re worth it,” he said, simple and heartfelt. “Everything else we can figure out. Please, Len. Can we finish our talk? I don’t want to leave things like this. If, despite everything…if you’re done with me, then I’ll understand. I’ll walk away. But please talk to me.” 

A shuddery breath left Len that Barry practically felt shiver through him with how close they were. “Okay, Barry. But not in here. Meet me in the hall.”

Barry nodded eagerly, unable to quell his smile. He watched Len turn back to the bustle of women surrounding Michael still holding baby Mai. The boy looked more confident now with his responsibility as big brother. He’d be okay, in time. He’d protect her, come what may. Barry didn’t doubt that for a second. 

Rather than say any goodbyes himself yet and risk breaking the din with awkward tension, Barry snuck out of the room, just as the nurse slipped back in and offered him a harried smile. Births, funerals, weddings—all the great milestones of life cause people to reassess their own lives. Barry had already come to terms with what he wanted before tonight, and all the things he needed to do, day by day, to get better and be worthy of Len. But being a part of this new life coming into the world seemed to solidify it all, like some great cosmic sign to just have faith and move forward. 

It was silly maybe, but it made Barry smile as he walked down the hallway a bit, past the corner to a little table with a potted plant on it in front of a large mirror. Further down was the reception desk for the maternity wing. Back down the hallway Lisa had come from was the elevator bank. 

Barry took a few deep breaths as he waited for Len to join him. He walked in front of the mirror to look at himself, and he could admit…he looked good, all things considered; his hair a little windblown from the trip to the hospital, the edges of his jacket lightly singed. He was used to that by now though. What was different, what had changed from only days ago, was that in his eyes was hope, hope in the possibility of beating back the darkness that had plagued him for so long. 

Moving out of the way of a rushing nurse headed for the elevators caused Barry to bump into the table, disrupting the plant and nearly sending it toppling. He caught it at Flash speed, thankful no one else was around to see him, and settled everything back into place with a sigh as he leaned against the glass. 

“Time to say goodbye, Barry,” said a voice— _his_ voice—which sent chills shooting through him as impossibly strong hands gripped him around the shoulders from behind. From the _mirror_. “You can’t have him. He’s _mine_.”

The scream Barry tried to release cut off as he was pulled, struggling in vain against the sudden hold on him, into the darkness of the mirror world.

XXXXX

Len closed the hospital room door softly behind and turned down the hallway to find Barry. He was surprised the kid wasn’t sitting on the bench twiddling his thumbs with nervous tension. He probably went to get some coffee or a bite to eat.

Moving slowly down the hallway, Len peered toward the elevators first, then walked to the reception desk, looking for Barry, expecting that at any moment he’d appear from around a corner with vending machine spoils. Eventually, Len returned to the bench to wait. 

When Lisa came out of the room several minutes later, saying that the nurse was kicking them all out for a while, Len decided that Barry must have been called away. No rest for the righteous.

He checked his phone. No messages, but that didn’t mean anything, given the nature of most crises that demanded Barry’s attention. So he sent a message of his own.

_Name the place, Scarlet. I’ll be there if you want to talk._

Len wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that once again their conversation had been put on hold, but the anxiousness in his gut told him that what he wanted more than anything else right now was just to see Barry again.

Any other feelings that stirred in him that something wasn’t quite right were easily dismissed as simply doubt that he could accept what Barry was offering when all he wanted was to say yes.

XXXXX

Barry couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—

He hit the ground and gasped in air as he fought to right himself. Blackness beneath him. Mirrors everywhere, _everywhere_ around him as he turned in a desperate circle. No, no, no.

“You can’t have him!” Barry screamed as he spun in place, looking for his reflection, but only seeing flickers of light from the mirrors nearest him. Not even the ones close to him showed a version of himself in their depths, making him feel strangely isolated rather than surrounded. “Where are you…?” Barry asked, breathless as he backed up, trying to keep from having any mirrors at his back, but it was impossible with how they littered the landscape. “What do you want?!” 

“You,” whispered his own voice from behind him, and when Barry whirled around, he faced himself in the closest mirror—his clothes, his face, but with a sneer in the expression. “Then I’m going to ruin him. Just like we planned. Remember, Barry? Our plan? To make him want us…” he grew larger in the reflection as he walked forward, right up to the glass like he might—

Barry backpedaled. 

“Make him love us. Make it so he can never, ever live without us.” The glass rippled as he stepped _through it_ , stepped _out of it_ into the Mirror Maze to join Barry, only he didn’t shift into Scudder as he appeared whole and solid for the first time. It was just _Barry_ standing there with a twisted grin. “And then rip his heart out while it’s still beating…all for us.” 

“No…” Barry trembled, gaped in horror, because it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. It was Scudder, it was supposed to be _Scudder_. But all Barry saw, only inches in front of him, was his own face. 

He couldn’t move, not even as his mirror-self stepped closer, right up to him, and reached out with his own hand. 

_I’m not like him, I’m not like him, I’m not—_

“I told you, Barry, that one day I’d be all that’s left. Now I am. Now your life is mine, and you’re the one who gets to watch from the depths of the mirror world.” He pushed Barry’s chest with the same impossible strength that he’d used to bring Barry here, knocking him backward to strike the mirror behind him. 

But he didn’t collide with it or fall through it back to the real world. He fell _into_ it, and the image before him rippled like a solidifying seal. Barry was trapped, trapped beneath glass like a butterfly on display. 

He screamed, but no sound left him. He pounded on the glass, but it didn’t shake or even slightly quiver at his actions. He couldn’t get out. He could barely move. All he could do was watch. 

While on the other side, his reflection—his other self—laughed. Reverse Barry straightened his collar, his jacket, his belt, with a cruel confidence, before he grinned and turned back to the array of mirrors before him, all of which flickered to life leading to the places and people that Barry loved most. 

XXXXX

Len had fallen asleep at the hospital. Carla and baby were fine, but they still needed to spend the night. Michael’s grandmother had indeed taken him home, but Len had elected to stay, even when Shawna and Lisa headed out planning to return in the morning. There was always that chance that Dunkirk or one of his goons might find Carla. Too risky to leave her alone. 

So Len sat in the chair in her room and allowed himself to dose, certain that he’d awaken immediately if anything was ever amiss. What did finally wake him was his phone buzzing in his pocket. 

It was early, only 6AM. But the text was from Barry, finally an answer to Len’s message last night. 

_Flash business. Forgive me? If yes, meet me at Jitters at 8am. We need to talk._

Nerves fluttered in Len’s stomach, but he could no longer pretend that he didn’t want Barry. Last night, even through everything that had happened with Carla, he’d convinced himself to turn Barry down. He had to. He had to… But he’d had all night to think. And dream. And want. And to regret the decision he never made. 

Len didn’t care about the stakes, or the unknown disasters that might lie ahead. Barry was worth it. If the kid wanted to keep being a fool and think that Len was worth it too, then…then Len wanted to let him. Because he wanted to be happy too.

“Is Momma awake?” the nurse’s voice called softly as she brought in a somewhat fussing baby Mai. “Baby’s hungry.”

Carla stirred instantly like she’d only been dozing herself, and with a weary smile she reached out as the nurse approached the bed. Len stood, rubbing his eyes to rouse himself fully.

“Your sister and her friend are back too,” the nurse said, smiling at Len before she left. 

Len was impressed; Lisa was not usually a morning person. She must have stayed with Shawna last night. 

He held back from the bed as Carla undid her gown to breast feed. “I should—”

“You’re fine,” Carla said without looking at him. “Most natural thing in the world, you know.” She flicked her eyes to him then with a teasing smirk.

Len shook his head as a smile claimed his expression. Carla had this way about her, more than just reminding him of his own mother, that instantly set him at ease. He stepped closer to look down at Mai, clinging to her momma. He wondered if she’d have Michael’s eyes when the fog of baby blue faded.

“Go home, Leonard,” Carla said with a gentle fondness. “You’ve done enough. I’ll be fine with the girls here. They’re more intimidating than you anyway.”

Len chuckled. “Oh, that I know.” He shared a look with his friend, brief but full of gratitude from Carla that Len would never, ever think he deserved. Then he turned for the door.

“And Leonard?” Carla called after him, causing him to glance over his shoulder at her. “Go get your boy. It’s what you both want, anyone could see that. You look at him like he’s as much a miracle as…” She grinned as she glanced down at her daughter, and didn’t need to say any more.

“Yes, ma’am,” Len said with an obedient nod, and left the room thinking that he might just get to keep a miracle for himself for once.

XXXXX

Len napped for an hour at home before he got ready, showered, and chose just the right outfit to blend in at Jitters. His cap and glasses were a must. He hadn’t bothered the morning he and Barry first started this adventure, but he was running out of risks he could take.

He headed to the coffee shop so that he arrived exactly on time. Barry waved him over to a table in front of the windows as soon as he stepped through the door. The sight of the kid, smiling wide as ever, didn’t jar Len as much as he thought it would, didn’t make him feel like he was setting himself up for failure, and yet…there was something about Barry as Len approached the table that was different from the beaming affection that had existed last night. 

It seemed fitting that they were here, in Jitters, where everything had started, but something stirred low in Len’s gut that he never felt without good reason. Barry’s smile wasn’t friendly. It was a mask. 

“Hey,” Barry said when Len took the seat across from him. Two coffees sat in front of Barry, and he passed one to Len. 

Len didn’t take it. “Barry. Deal with any new catastrophes last night?”

Barry giggled, and it sounded…menacing. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’m glad you came. We have a few things to sort out.”

“Do we now?” Len scanned Barry’s face, his posture, trying to read him. Something had happened, something had obviously changed, but what? 

Leaning forward in his stool, resting his elbows on the table and toying with the lid of his coffee cup with antsy fingers, Barry appeared just as Len was used to, but there was something amiss, something in the way he held himself, in the tilt to his head, that set Len on edge. Barry wore a green button down that Len had seen before, a simple blazer, but the quirk to his smile made everything else seem…off. 

“See, I have to get my priorities in order,” Barry said, casual as can be. “And while this has been fun and all, I’m back at work on Monday, so…well…” He stretched his grin. “Time to put these games behind us, don’t you think?”

Tension ratcheted up through Len’s limbs. “Games?”

Barry giggled again, and bit his lip in a way that once would have made Len hot beneath the collar. Now he felt queasy. “For a while there I had this whole grand scheme for how I was going to finally lift the veil and tell you, but honestly it’s getting a bit boring now, so…this is better. Wouldn’t have been any fun if I'd admitted you were right as soon as you caught me, would it?”

“What are you talking about, Barry?” Len asked at what felt like a glacial pace because the world was closing in around him.

“Come on,” Barry leaned closer to him across the table, his voice falling hushed and terribly condescending with that wicked smirk on display, “you didn’t really think I could ever love you, did you?” 

Bile choked in Len’s throat.

“Oh…you did?” Barry laughed— _laughed_. “Wow. You really are delusional, but then I did make it pretty convincing. Had to draw things out, you know, really sell the performance to keep the upper hand. And my, oh my, how easily you fell for it.”

Len was hallucinating. He had to be imagining this, after everything they’d gone through for him to convince himself that this would never happen. It just wasn’t _Barry_. Was it? Len had thought it was, believed the worst, but he’d been wrong, hadn’t he? He’d been _wrong_. 

“The sex was good, Snart—”

Snart. _Snart._

“—you know it was, but really now. I’m done wasting my time on trash.”

_If you start out as trash, well…you’re just trash forever._

Len’s throat went dry for something to say, when only days ago he might have snapped back, acted out, reached for the cold gun that he hadn’t bothered to bring along. But today the fight dripped out of him like blood from a wound he should have seen coming.

Barry grinned at him, pleased with himself and so _cold_ , cold enough that for once Len was the one left to shiver.

Then he saw them, from the reflection in the window at his left—two CCPD officers headed for the entrance into Jitters. The door was behind him, but he knew how to watch his surroundings, how to catch the glimmer of that particular shade of blue through a storefront window. Barry had set him up. 

“It was fun though,” Barry said as he sat back, and picked up his coffee to take a sip. “Maybe I’ll call you sometime. If my bed gets cold. But I wouldn’t wait by the phone.”

Len didn’t answer. He couldn’t look at Barry. He had precious moments to act, so he did the only thing he could if he wanted to get out of there unscathed. He took his coffee cup and stood, walking at a practiced, unhurried pace for the bathrooms to better blend in with the crowd. 

Women’s bathroom, Men’s bathroom, Emergency exit. The police would already be inside now behind him, probably tipped off that he’d be there, looking for him, but not looking for a man in a ball cap and glasses. Len could make it. 

He tensed anyway, expecting at any moment to hear, “Police!” but Barry didn’t say a word. Instead, Len heard the faint haunting trail of the kid’s laughter following him as he hurried faster and faster toward escape. 

No alarm blared as he pushed through the door; it wasn’t that type of exit. The cool air felt like a blow to his chest, how hot he felt, how dizzy, but he couldn’t pause for breath. He kept moving. Kept walking. Stared forward as he tossed the full cup of coffee at the ground and it splattered onto his shoes and jeans. 

He didn’t need to wipe his face—he wasn’t _crying_. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t…no, no, he wasn’t sad, he couldn’t be sad, or as devastated as the distant din of Barry’s laughter made him feel. 

He felt…numb. 

And he needed to do something, anything, _immediately_ , to make that feeling go away. 

Len pulled out his cell phone and dialed, the streets around him becoming a blur as he hurried away from any threat of the police…or Barry Allen. 

“Mick? Where are you?”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to do me (tomorrow, July 28th), and thank you all for reading. Please let me know what you think.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len enacts a plan to take his enemy down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if it was because it was my birthday, or because I gave you yet another heartbreaking cliffhanger there, but that last chapter was literally THE MOST comments I have ever received on a single chapter here. THANK YOU. Wow, you guys are amazing. 
> 
> As I've commented back to many of you, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with how Len actually responds this chapter. But I can't promise there won't be another cliffhanger. :-)
> 
> Also, one reviewer totally guessed what's going on with Barry, but of course I can't tell you WHO. ;-)

Len downed a shot of whiskey—expensive, smooth—and immediately asked the bartender at Saints and Sinners for another. It didn’t matter that it was barely 9AM, and the bar didn’t open until 11 for lunch. Frank, the bartender, was there, and more than willing to let Len in, and let him slap a $20 on the counter and demand a shot or two. Len needed them if he was going to get through the day—and he needed to drink them in plain view of the mirror over the bar.

Mick came in with a telling creak of the door, since the rest of the bar was silent, only Frank and Len there, not even the cook or whichever waitress would be filling in for Carla. 

Len raised his new shot of whiskey Mick’s direction, but Mick just scowled as he approached the bar. 

“Not my speed,” Mick said, and since Len knew he didn’t mean whiskey in general, it had to be the early hour. Len shrugged and downed the shot. 

He still wore his baseball cap, though he’d swapped out the glasses for a pair of contacts. He’d keep the hat on for the rest of the day, no way around it with cops likely sniffing around. Now that he felt the warmth and faint buzz of liquor hitting him, much as his stomach turned at being otherwise empty, he steeled himself for what came next—for what he had to do. 

“Thanks, Frank. We’ll be in the corner,” Len said, passing over the $20. Frank nodded as he took it and continued wiping down the bar, while Len gestured Mick over to the farthest booth in the back—away from any reflective surfaces. 

They sat across from each other. Mick looked alert, well-rested, which meant he hadn’t been out drinking or getting into trouble last night—good. He’d probably been up early to tinker on one of his many projects, but no smudges of grease marred his skin or clothes. Len had caught him just in time. 

“Better not expect me to give those paintings back,” Mick grumbled. 

Len cracked a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mick. Need your assistance with something else today. Though before we get to that…heard you punched The Flash clean across the jaw the other night. How’d I miss that, I wonder?” He eyed his friend with a mixture of humor and calculated challenge. 

Mick shrugged. “Punk deserved it. Lisa seemed pretty sure he’d make good, but yer breakfast of choice over there has me thinking yer finally ready to let me fry ‘im.”

“Your particular skillset will be required.” Len tapped his fingers on the table. “But for now, I need you on damage control. Whatever we can manage in the next few hours. Not out of the woods yet with the boys in blue coming to the neighborhood like I’d hoped. Haven’t seen any, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Someone snitch?” Mick leaned forward with a crack of his knuckles. 

“Yeah. Flash,” Len said, which made Mick’s lip curl up into a harsher sneer, “…or so someone wants me to believe.” The whiskey might be burning a hole in Len’s gut, but he wasn’t looking to get lost or drunk or stupid. He wouldn’t be fooled again. “If I’m right, Flash isn’t the one you’ll be frying, Mick. My money’s on Scudder. He got to Flash somehow, playing his strings, messing with his head, I don’t know what, but Flash himself…” Len held Mick’s gaze with every ounce of fierceness in him, and every unspoken threat that had ever led to blows between them. “Him you don’t touch. Even if it looks like he’s the enemy.” 

Len readied himself for Mick to scoff, bark back, raise his voice in ire, but the unexpected happened. Mick grew quiet, contemplative, as his brow smoothed out and he sat back with a huff and look of apprehension. Not anger—just disgruntled concern. 

“Listen, pal…”

Oh no, Len would not be patronized by _Mick_. 

“…this kid’s got yer head turned around.”

“Mick—” 

“He _runs off_ on you. Pulls some stunt you won’t tell me about that has you ready to bring him to his knees, an absolute wreck, now he’s got you shootin’ whiskey alone before noon, and yer trying to tell me he’s off limits?”

“Mick, you don’t know—”

“So fuckin’ tell me already!” Mick slammed a fist down on the tabletop, making Len flinch for the fight he’d been expecting earlier. He stared Mick down, but saw in his friend’s eyes that Mick would not back down first, not with this. 

Len had known it was likely too much to ask that Mick would go along with things without demanding answers. Before that morning, Len had intended on telling Mick everything, but now it was a race, and while taking those shots of whiskey was part of the ruse, the clock was against them. 

“There isn’t time for that.”

A puff of air escaped Mick as he pushed against the table and started to get up. “Then you can handle damage control by your own damn self.” 

“ _Mick_.” Len reached across the table and grabbed his friend’s wrist before he could stand. He felt the muscles in Mick’s forearm ripple with tension, ready to jerk away or turn this more physical than Len could afford right now. So Len didn’t try to fight. He loosened his hold on Mick but didn’t pull away either. “He was using me. Okay? That’s what happened, that’s what I found out,” Len said, no flicker of bravado to cover up how desperate he was for Mick’s help. “But things _changed_.” 

Mick huffed again, but with the release of air, so too deflated his anger, and he relaxed back into the booth. He pulled his arm out of Len’s grip but didn’t try to get up again. There was frustration in his expression, mixed with pity and rare sympathy that Len could have counted on one hand for how seldom Mick looked at him like that over the years. 

Len fell back into his seat too. “Everything he’s done since then, everything he’s tried to do, there’s no way he meant to sucker me a second time. Should have known something was wrong the second he disappeared last night. With Scudder skulking around…I _felt_ it,” Len leaned forward, letting his anger at himself get the better of him, “knew something was off, but like a _rookie_ , I ignored my instincts. Knew better when I saw him this morning. Something happened. Scudder…did something to him.” 

Mick eyed Len skeptically. “Scudder did, huh?”

“I’ve told you what he can do. And we don’t even know the half of it. Flash is being used.”

“Instead of him just using you again.”

Len slammed his own fist down on the table. “It’s not…like that.” He took a breath to quiet the lack of control that had stirred within him, choosing to blame it on the liquor working its way through his system. He needed to focus. “I believe him, Mick. The him that tried to make me see the truth at the heist, who stood there and let you burn him just to prove a point to me, and who’s been trying ever since to talk things out. I have to believe him. He believed in me. Thinks I’m more than… _this_.” 

Len gestured weakly at himself, at the pathetic picture he knew he painted with flushed cheeks from the liquor and the damn hat that made him tear the cap off and throw it into the booth when Mick raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You wanna think he’s making me soft, go ahead, but I’m not an idiot. I won’t give up on him, Mick. Not again.”

Mick’s brow was tight, lips pursed, but his eyes betrayed a crinkle of wavering. “And what if you’re wrong? Huh? What then? What if he’s using you another way now, and yer just too lovesick to see it? Then do I get to fry him?” he smirked ever so subtly.

Laughter bubbled out of Len, because the lines smoothed from Mick’s forehead again at that tease of a grin. Mick was with him, from here to the end. “If I’m wrong? Doubt you’ll manage much of anything before I ice him.” Len leaned forward as he grinned back at his friend, anxious to get started. “Now…ready to work?” 

XXXXX

Mick’s first task was to go to Andrew Electronics to pick up Hartley, while Len called in Lisa and Shawna. They met up at the one safe house Len hadn’t used in over a month—which made it less likely that Scudder knew about it. There was always that chance that Len was being watched, that all of them were, so the most they could do was avoid windows and mirrors, and anything else obviously reflective, and hope for the best. 

It had been a risk to go to Saints and Sinners, heading back to the neighborhood at all, but that had been deliberate; if Scudder was watching, Len wanted him to think he was wrecked and acting out. He even played it up when he and Mick left that he was slightly wobbly on his feet. When he got out of the neighborhood, and hit an alley with brick buildings and no windows, he took off at a brisker pace. 

Len knew his city. Knew how to avoid reflections as much as anyone could. He hoped, believed that Scudder was more preoccupied with Barry to be watching him, but he had to be careful. He couldn’t risk going home. Not until this was over. 

“Got your gear, boss,” Shawna said as she blinked into existence behind Len. He barely flinched as he finished up something on the safe house computer and turned to face her. “Plus essentials,” she added, dropping a couple duffle bags at his feet.

“Nice work, Shawna. Notice anything amiss?”

“Not that I could tell.” 

“Good.” He unzipped the bags and looked inside. When he fished through his Cold gear, he made sure that Shawna had left the goggles behind like he’d asked. “Okay, back to patrolling the streets.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she said. “From Saints, down through the shops, and end at Carla’s. Shop keeps are already warned. Anyone gets a lock on me too long in one place, I’ll be long gone before they can blink. Got a few plainclothes snooping around already, but boy, are they easy to spot. Mama and baby doin’ fine, by the way,” she said with a warmer smile. “Michael keeps asking about you.” 

Len sighed as he looked down at his gear and the things he’d asked Shawna to get from his apartment. This safe house wasn’t meant for a long haul, cramped and dark with minimal luxuries, but it was the only option he had. “Tell him the truth. I’ll visit as soon as I can.”

“You sure Carla wouldn’t be better off staying with her mom in Keystone? She—”

“Dunkirk’s on the streets again. Can’t risk it. He knows about Carla’s mother’s. Best place for her is still in the neighborhood even with Scudder around. Besides, they’ve got you to look out for them.” He grinned, and instead of grinning back or shaking her head, Shawna looked at Len reminiscent of how Michael had lately—and Barry—as if Len was…somehow more.

“They sure do, boss. And if anyone can move faster than a freak jumping mirrors, it’s this freak right here.” She winked, before offering a swift salute, and vanishing on the spot. 

All Len had done to warrant her loyalty was—well, busted her out of being held captive by Team Flash, given her refuge and a new identity to safely go to night school, and saved her best friend a few dozen times over. But still, Len had always seen it as quid pro quo, only offering help because he knew he’d get more in return. He doubted now how true that was, because even if Shawna never again agreed to use her powers for his benefit, he’d still defend her, or Carla, or any of his team without blinking. 

Barry was a terrible influence, Len thought with a smirk.

“Report, Piper,” Len said over the comms. 

When Mick had picked Hartley up, he’d made sure the young engineer brought along everything he’d need to keep them connected. Mick had sneered at the idea at first, since they hadn’t used comms for the heist earlier that week, but Len insisted. When talking in person sometimes carried more perils, they needed to be able to talk as a unified front to know if anyone became compromised. 

“Nothing,” Hartley answered him. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been home all day. The windows look frosted over too, which is…odd.”

“Frosted?” Len turned back to the computer as he contemplated what that might mean, then internally praised Cisco for being so damn ingenious when the truth dawned on him. “It’s safe to go inside, Hart. Once you’ve had a look around the house, tell me what you can.”

“Safe? You know what the frosted look means?”

“I think the West house might be Mirror Master proof. If it is, I need you to find out how.”

A pause sounded as Hartley contemplated that. “On it, boss. I’ll let you know what I dig up.”

“And Hart? If you see The Flash, don’t engage him.”

“Roger that.”

There had been no sign of Detective West or his children. Only Barry had been seen since late last night, which was far more troubling than Barry’s behavior at Jitters. It amped up Len’s worry as much as it soothed him, because at least now he knew that his gut feeling had been right. But they needed to find someone, anyone other than Barry who could tell them what had happened. 

Len had sent Lisa to Cisco’s when she couldn’t get a hold of him by phone or online. 

“Try his apartment.”

“You know, it’s cute that you think I already know where he lives. But I don’t.”

“I do,” Hartley had raised his hand while they sat around planning in the depths of the safe house before parting ways. “And Caitlin,” he shrugged, which was where Len had sent Mick. 

“Any news on the white hats?” Len asked now, multi-tasking on the computer as he returned to work.

“Nothin’ at the doc’s,” Mick said. “Nicely stocked fridge and pantry though.”

Len snorted, envisioning Mick with a few spoils he’d taken from Caitlin’s apartment. 

“Nothing at Cisco’s either,” said Lisa, though her tone was less humored than Mick’s, troubled and not trying to hide it. 

Len’s first goal had been to protect his own, make sure the neighborhood stayed safe. Next he’d wanted to find out what The Flash had been up to last night, and locate everyone Barry cared about. Which meant that Len had had to break his first promise to Barry when he gathered his crew for this mission, but he couldn’t feel bad about it. 

Only Shawna and Mick hadn’t yet known Barry’s identity. 

“The Flash is Barry Allen, youngest member of the downtown CCPD precinct’s CSI unit. And Detective Joe West’s adopted son.” 

Shawna’s mouth had fallen open, while Mick had stared at Len like he was out of his damn mind…before grinning. 

“You sure do know how to pick ‘em, pal.”

“No denying that one, Mick.”

Now, while Len’s crew was out in the field, he stayed hidden in the safe house, but he was hardly lying low unproductively. He’d gotten lazy, distracted, figured Team Flash had it covered where Scudder was concerned and could do the heavy lifting themselves. Now they were paying for that mistake. Len needed to find out everything Team Flash knew about Scudder, and everything they didn’t. 

He finished pulling up the files he needed on his computer, the one reflective item he allowed in the safe house, since he believed and dearly hoped he was right that as long as the screen constantly displayed something, Scudder couldn’t access it. 

Analyzing everything critically, Len scanned the employee roster for Central City Glassworks. Manager at the time of Scudder’s employment—still worked there. Good. Then he looked at the shop’s shift schedule. The man in question was on the clock right now. 

“I’m heading out,” Len told the others as he stood and snatched up his bag of Cold gear to get changed. “Meet back at the safe house as soon as you’re finished with your tasks. Shawna, stay alert. We’ll call you when we’re all together. Hopefully, I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked. 

Len grinned as he pulled his cold gun from the duffle bag. “Time for a little old fashioned interrogation—a little less user friendly than CCPD.”

Mick snickered over the line. “Have fun, buddy.”

XXXXX

Chris Stantz had a solo shift for the morning and early afternoon, since it was Thursday and not a particularly busy time of year for the glassworks. He worked in the back room unless he heard the bell over the door chime. He’d get a little help around 2pm when one of the associate employees came in for their shift through closing time. It worked in the shop’s favor to mostly employ part-timers these days, especially after Sam Scudder had robbed them blind a few weeks ago. At least Chris had managed to keep his job.

A knock at the back door startled him. He pushed away from his desk and frowned, even as he headed that direction. The back exit was for emergencies—he used the front door when closing up—and deliveries only, since it connected to the back alley. Chris slowed his steps, wondering if maybe he’d imagined the noise. 

Another knock sounded. Damn it. 

“Who’s there?” Chris called as he neared the door. 

“Delivery for Stantz!” a muffled voice replied. 

Chris sighed. Here he’d been hoping for a slow day, but maybe it was something worthwhile at least. He unlocked the back door and hefted it open. “What kind of deliv…” he trailed as his eyes widened at the sight of Captain Cold—the Captain Cold—standing in front of him, and attempted to slam the door shut again. 

A strong grip held the door open, while a second gloved hand grabbed Chris by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him out into the alley.

“We need to have a chat, Mr. Stantz.”

XXXXX

Len pushed the man up against the wall of the building. He could have easily strolled inside, but that wasn’t practical when the shop was filled with mirrors. The windowless alley—the type of location he was used to using to navigate his city—worked just fine. 

Len pressed in close to the man, one hand flat against the brick beside his head, the other drawing his cold gun and pressing it to Stantz’s stomach. 

“I don’t know anything!” Stantz cried. 

“About?” Len cocked his head.

“Uhh…whatever it is you’re here for?”

Len grinned; people were so predictable. Stantz must have something to hide. Gambling debts maybe? A few dirty secrets someone interested in digging might turn up? No matter. Len was there for information. He might be without his goggles, which he normally enjoyed donning for how they hooded his gaze, but his direct stare could be plenty intimidating. Plus, he had the rest of his gear—parka, gloves, gun. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Stantz. I bet you know plenty. Maybe even more than you realize.” Len dug the cold gun in a little deeper, making Stantz tremble. “I need to know everything you know about Sam Scudder—everything you didn’t tell the police.”

Stantz blinked like that was the last thing he’d expected Len to say. “I…I told them all I know! I swear!”

Len leaned into Stantz, close enough to puff breath against his face. “We both know that isn’t true. There’s always something that slips the mind or seems unimportant. I want to know how he took his coffee. Whether he ever wore white after Labor Day, or saved all of his receipts but never carried cash. Everything. And make no mistake…Christopher,” Len drew out the man’s name, “if I don’t leave here with something useful, I’m gonna be feeling awfully _frosty_ toward you.” He let the gun whir as he warmed it up for a shot. “Wouldn’t want that to happen now, would we?”

Stantz’s breathing picked up, eyes wide and lip quivering. “P-Please…I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I know! He was just a…a weird guy. No friends. Came and went, always on time, didn’t say much. Didn’t drink coffee. Only ever got worked up when he talked about his experiments.”

“Experiments?” Len let the whir of the gun dwindle as he leaned back. “Never mentioned that to the fuzz. Why? What was Scudder experimenting on?”

Stantz shook his head before Len had even finished speaking. “It’s nuts. Crazy. If you’re looking for him, it won’t help you—”

“Didn’t ask for your opinion, Christopher,” Len whirred the gun again, causing Stantz’s mouth to snap shut. “I ask a question, you answer. That’s how this works. Got it?” 

Stantz nodded frantically.

“Good.” Len powered down the gun again. “So…” he inclined his head.

“Right! O-Okay. He…he was obsessed! Cracked. Thought there was a way _inside_ reflections. Always said he’d find some way to the ‘mirror world’, whatever that meant. That’s why he wanted a job at the glassworks. He was the best we ever had at making frames, fixing imperfections, but his real passion was in reflections themselves. Always set things up in the back room after hours like some psycho fun house.”

“Did he ever mention any success with his experiments?” Len asked. 

“No. Never. Said that if he did succeed, he wouldn’t dare use that knowledge until he figured out a way to anchor himself. Said the mirror world would be impossible to navigate. That going in would be suicide, because if he got lost, he wouldn’t know which reflection connected where or how to get home.”

“So the night of the particle accelerator explosion—”

“That’s the last time I saw him!” Stantz cried. 

Len smiled, unamused. “I’m aware. Word has it he was at the traveling circus that night, likely to go to the fun house to get a look at their mirrors, wouldn’t you agree?”

“P-Probably,” Stantz stammered, then seemed to put two and two together, and his eyes widened. “Wait…you don’t think he figured it out, do you? To get inside the mirrors? Is that how he’s been doing all these robberies?” He glanced fearfully at the closed door beside him that led back in to what was obviously a horror show when a psycho was on the loose who could travel through reflections. “Oh god…”

Len stepped away and let his hand drop from being pressed to the wall beside Stantz’s head, but he kept his cold gun aimed. “Consider yourself lucky he’s moved onto bigger and better targets. Now…anything else you never shared with the police?”

Stantz continued to stare at the door. When he didn’t answer after a beat, Len let the gun whir angrily again to stress his impatience, and Stantz snapped to attention. “N-No…I swear. Everything else, the police know. It just didn’t seem important to mention the mirrors.”

“Well, that’s what CCPD gets for not divulging their new meta of the week’s power set to the public, isn’t it? Might have changed your tune if you’d heard the theories. Of course Scudder says his power isn’t to travel through mirrors, which means he did figure it out before the explosion. His powers are what ground him…” Len let his words drift as he considered what that might mean. 

Scudder had said as much himself, told Barry that his power was how he could survive in the Mirror Maze, not how he got there, and now Len knew how deeply Scudder’s obsession with mirrors went. What he needed to find out was what ‘grounding him’ entailed and how to disrupt it. 

“Are you gonna…k-kill me?” Stantz asked, bringing Len back to the moment. 

Len looked the man up and down. He might have a few skeletons hidden somewhere, but likely benign ones. So Len held his gaze for a moment, then tucked his gun into its holster. “Much obliged for your time, Mr. Stantz,” he said, patting the man’s shoulder. “But…” he added as his friendly pat turned into a tight grip. “If I think of anything else, or find out you were keeping something from me…”

Stantz gulped and shook his head.

“…I’ll be back.” 

XXXXX

Len found Hartley at the computer when he returned to the safe house, with Mick and Lisa bookending him like sentinels over his shoulder. 

“Shawna, join us now,” Len called into the comms. His voice made all of them turn, and their expressions were not favorable. 

Shawna popped in between Len and the group at the computer. 

“Problem?” Len prompted them. 

Shawna looked confused, but Lisa, Mick, and Hartley exchanged pinched expressions. They quickly reported that none of them had anything new to share about the Wests, or Caitlin and Cisco, though Hartley had a line on Barry’s location—currently eating lunch at Big Belly Burger, which in and of itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

“When he’s off the grid—and this is The Flash we’re talking about, so he’ s usually off—I’m guessing he’s at STAR Labs. When he’s out and about, he just seems to be…enjoying himself. And he was definitely enjoying himself last night.” Hartley eyed Len meaningfully before turning back to the computer, which everyone gathered around. 

Hartley brought up surveillance footage from several businesses around Central City after closing time last night. Hanson’s Jewelers. A credit union. A god damn _dollar store_ —which in all fairness did tend to house a lot of cash. All of them showed The Flash—clearly seen on camera, and happening within minutes of each other even though they were blocks apart— _stealing_ everything he could get his leather-clad hands on. 

The sight of it shook Len, even though he’d already known something was seriously wrong with Barry, seeing him brought to _this_ —Scudder was going to pay. He had to be controlling Barry somehow. At least he could have had Barry rob those places stealthily. Len would be lying if he said he’d never envisioned what it might be like to have Barry on his side for a heist. But Scudder wanted Barry caught on camera. Wanted him discredited. Ruined. 

What could he possibly have done to get Barry to do all of this? Had he really twisted his mind into that of his dark reflection?

“And these are just the three that recorded him, though they haven’t shared the footage with anyone other than CCPD,” Hartley said. “Official reports state that none of the owners think it’s really The Flash, must be an imposter, but it’s only a matter of time before they realize it’s really him and this hits the press, especially if he keeps at it tonight.”

“We don’t have enough to go on.” Len stepped away, beginning a slow pace in front of the others as they turned to him. “The cold and heat guns can preoccupy Flash, but if he’s unchecked, he could be out for blood. He’d be too dangerous to face head on.”

“But if we leave it, if we wait and try to get more intel on Scudder first…” Lisa put in. 

“Barry’s friends and family could end up dead, and Scudder wins,” Len finished. He stopped and turned to his crew. There were others he could call in to increase their number, but no one else he trusted, not with a rescue mission. Not with Barry’s identity. “We gotta risk it. Gotta reveal that Scudder is behind everything and get his influence away from Barry.” 

“How?” Mick asked, crossing his arms defiantly, much as he hardly looked ready to call it quits. 

“We need help to take Scudder down for good,” Len said. “And there’s only one place all of our missing people could be. The one place we haven’t checked yet.” 

“STAR Labs,” Shawna said, shifting in place. 

“I won’t ask you to go back there,” Len assured her. “Still need someone on the streets, and you’re our best chance for backup if things go awry. You’ll continue to patrol the neighborhood, but be ready on the comms if we need you.”

Shawna nodded gratefully. 

Len turned to Hartley. “Can you hack their security cameras? Get us a look inside?” 

Hartley’s pale complexion seemed to turn a shade whiter, as he adjusted his glasses. Anti-reflective-coating, he’d said. Len hoped that was enough, but by Hartley’s own admission, everything would look like blurry blobs without them. “I’ll rarely admit this, and if you ever tell him I said anything, I’ll deny it completely…but Cisco’s no slouch. I can get in, but he’ll have protocols in place to alert them the second I do. So yes, I can do it, but do you really want them to know we’re looking?”

“No.” Len frowned, not if Barry or Scudder were controlling things inside. “We have to take them by surprise. Which maybe isn’t even possible. There’s no way to know what Scudder might be looking through at any given moment, no matter how carefully we’ve checked for reflections, and we have no idea how to neutralize him if he shows up.” 

“Actually,” Hartley brightened as he sat up straighter and swiveled his chair back to the computer, “I may be able to help with that. Remember your other directive for me, boss? I accessed The Flash’s home computer while I was inside the house. Found some interesting tech on there that I think Cisco built to mask reflections. It wasn’t just the outside windows that were frosted. Mirror Master proof is right.” 

Len crossed back toward the others swiftly, and Shawna, Mick, and Lisa backed away to let him through. “Can you make it portable?” 

Complicated schematics and coding appeared on the screen. Hartley sighed audibly, like for once even he wasn’t sure what he was looking at—yet. “Not without time we don’t have. Cisco was probably working on the same thing. But if you give me an hour,” he glanced up at Len over his shoulder, “I might be able to make it so you can pop a flash drive into any computer and at least seal off a single room. Could keep the safe house more…well, safe, and—”

“No. _Do_ it. But I’ll be taking the program with me.” 

“Where?” Lisa asked guardedly. 

A plan—a solid, working, improbable but entirely possible plan—started to form in Len’s mind. “Mick, Lisa, get your gear. Be ready to hit STAR Labs tonight. Shawna, get back on patrol. As soon as Hartley has something I can take with me,” he looked to each of them, and felt his resolve, his confidence, returning, “I have one more stop to make before we take the fight to the source.”

XXXXX

For all Len’s audacity and love of the game, what he was doing now had never entered his mind as worth the risk for any amount of payoff. But if they screwed up the raid against STAR Labs, if Scudder got the drop on them before they found Barry’s friends, they might never get this chance again. 

One thing that could always be counted on about people, however, was that they rarely recognized someone out of their element. Put a guy that they’re used to seeing in all black, or suits, or a parka with fur on the hood, and put him in a baseball cap, sneakers, and a red hoodie with his hands shoved into his pockets, and even the few officers who looked right at Len as he strolled through the CCPD precinct merely walked on by him without even a second glance. 

Len wasn’t stopped once during his trek to Captain Singh’s office. 

“ _Hey_. You’re not supposed to be…” the captain didn’t finish his sentence when Len closed the door behind him and immediately pulled down his hood, tossed aside his hat, and held a finger to his lips with a silent hush.

Singh tensed, hand going to his gun though he didn’t draw it, as Len crossed the room to the man’s computer. He ignored the captain until he’d slid the USB into place and every reflective surface in the office turned matte just as Hartley had promised.

“Wouldn’t want our mutual friend Scudder to eavesdrop,” Len said, standing up straight again to face the captain, who’d let his hand go limp as he looked around the room at the frosted surfaces. “Wish I could take credit, Captain, but this one belongs to Ramon. Pity I can’t _find_ him anywhere.”

Singh snapped back to Len with a wary frown. “What’s going on? Where’s Allen?”

“So you haven’t seen him yet…” Len nodded. That might actually work in their favor.

“He’s still on suspension until next week. Thanks to you,” Singh snarled. “Went to all that trouble to protect your unworthy hide, and there was still an anonymous tip pointing to your location. Couldn’t look the other way when it got sent to every detective in the precinct. You getting sloppy, Snart?”

Len smiled. He’d suspected the captain knew The Flash’s identity; now he was certain. “Not an anonymous tip, Captain. Our other mutual friend made that call. Barry.”

Singh’s eyes betrayed his surprise for all of a second. “You finally screw up? He was ready to fall on a bullet for you.”

“Yeah,” Len said, serious and stiff, with no humor in his voice this time. “I think he just might have.”

Despite how on edge he appeared, Singh relaxed while waiting for an explanation, so Len gave him one. Told him everything he’d discovered, as well as his concerns that Barry’s friends were in danger because Barry wasn’t himself.

“I need their help to put the missing pieces together, but all of them are MIA. You wouldn’t happen to have seen West today?”

“No…” Singh sagged into a look of concern. “So this copycat isn’t a copycat? It’s Flash?”

“Scudder’s behind it,” Len asserted. “He’s behind everything. We just need to prove it. And get Barry back to his senses. This,” Len gestured at the frosted surfaces, “is a start. But now I’m facing a Flash who might not pull his punches.” 

Singh nodded, no longer as guarded as he’d been when Len arrived. “I’m trusting Allen’s good nature here that you really have his best interest in mind. Don’t prove him wrong. Now…” He sighed with a look of pained resignation. “What do you need?”

Len had been taking a gamble, daring to come here, but like most of his wagers, he’d been confident about how things would turn out. “What I was hoping to avoid, Captain. I need to get into STAR Labs.” 

“You need blueprints?”

“Have ‘em. Need you to have the power cut so it looks like a natural blackout on that part of the city’s grid.” 

Singh startled and backed up a step, then narrowed his brow. “Why not just attack the power station?”

“Because Barry and Scudder would know it’s me. I need as much of an element of surprise as I can get. But the most important thing I need from you, Captain, is the biggest risk of all. Call Barry,” he said, knowing the weight this request carried if Barry really was unhinged—which he definitely was. “Get him here. Keep him occupied for as long as you can. If he notices something’s up, he’ll be at the labs in seconds, and I need to be sure he isn’t there when we make our move. Can you do that?”

Singh took a breath with the appropriate amount of trepidation. “I can. What should I expect from him? Is he really brainwashed?”

“I don’t know. He’s not himself. You’ll see it. Just try to keep your reasoning for calling him in normal. Yell at him a little. He expects that, doesn’t he?” Len smirked. “It’ll work.” 

Singh nodded. “How long do you need?”

“Twenty minutes, if you can manage.” 

“How do I contact you if things go south?”

Ah, now that was the crux of the matter—another gamble. Only two strides separated Len from Singh. He took that first step smoothly. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Captain. Could ask for a lot more as the tradeoff. A pardon, for example, if I manage to help bring Scudder in.” 

A sneer rippled over Singh’s features. “Is that what you’re after?” His indignation was definitely all for Barry. 

Good.

“No.” Len refrained from taking that last step closer to the captain. He didn’t need to intimidate the man; he needed his trust. “I want Barry safe.” He reached slowly into the pocket of his hoodie, and revealed a set of comms like the ones that had once sat in evidence in this very building. “These comms will connect you to my team. If you recognize any voices…maybe pretend you don’t.” He handed them over. 

The captain accepted the comms without pause. “You better save him, Snart,” he said, when Len turned on his heels and went to retrieve his hat from the chair next to the door. “He turned his whole life upside down trying to save you.” 

Len paused, facing away from Singh, before he finished snatching up his hat. He secured it back in place, lifted his hood to cover it, and nodded back at the captain as he reached for the door. “I know.” 

XXXXX

The déjà vu of sneaking past STAR Labs security wasn’t lost on Len, but it wasn’t comforting either. Singh hadn’t let him down—the grid had just gone dark. 

“Stay hidden, Piper, and stay alert,” Len said into the comms, as he gestured Mick and Lisa to go ahead of him into the underground garage at STAR Labs, all of them in full gear with their guns at the ready. This area was the proverbial and somewhat literal backdoor to the Labs’ security system, which was still a concern as the emergency lights flickered on. 

Len needed to have a chat with Cisco when this was all over about how to keep people like him out. He hadn’t had reason to explain how he’d snuck into the Labs those other times; now he felt a bit like sharing.

Hartley was stationed a good distance away from the building, where he could stay on the comms and lead them through the Labs remotely, and also keep watch for any telling lightning trails headed their direction. 

Singh had radioed in when Barry was on his way to the station—which, knowing Barry, would take only minutes—then they had at most twenty minutes before they had to worry about company. 

The dim blue color of the emergency lights from the backup generator cast an eerie glow over the interior of STAR Labs. The semi-darkness might—might—keep them hidden from Scudder’s all seeing eye, but if the Labs had ever had Cisco’s anti-Mirror Master program running, it wasn’t on now. Too many hallways and surfaces boasted reflective surfaces. They had to be quick. 

“If they’re being kept alive, the most likely place is either in the Pipeline, or somewhere in the Cortex itself, since there’s a kitchen and other amenities up there.”

“Honey…don’t say ‘if’,” Lisa said with a catch in her voice. 

“Sorry…” Hartley said, and while Len had possibly never heard Hartley apologize before, he could tell that the kid meant it this time; he just tended to be more analytic minded than empathetic. “You’ll reach the Pipeline first, so we’ll start there. Next left, through the duct and up the ladder.”

“You think I’m fittin’ in a duct?” Mick grumbled. 

“This isn’t your typical ventilation system, Heat Wave,” Hartley droned. 

He wasn’t kidding. As the three of them reached the duct, Len could see that it would easily accommodate Mick’s size, whatever type of ladder might exist within. 

“Stand back,” he told the others, and once they were clear, he iced the cover that was bolted in place to block entry into the duct, then kicked it to crumble the cover into pieces.

“Age before beauty,” Lisa gestured Len to enter first. 

Mick chuckled and pushed on ahead of both of them. In all fairness, he was two years older than Len. Len still gave Lisa a dirty look for the remark, but he let her bring up the rear anyway. He wished it was worth the risk to wear his goggles—same for Mick—but he’d already been careless this week and underestimated Scudder just because of what had happened between him and Barry; he wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

The problem, though, was that he had no way to know how close or how far the cold field extended once he turned it on. 

The climb up to the Pipeline wasn’t grueling, but it still ate up a good seven minutes before they were all safely out of the duct. They inched silently toward the Pipeline entrance. The backup generator sent power there first, to keep any prisoners secure. Len checked if any of the cells were full. 

“Nothing. They’re not here,” he ground out, but willed himself to stay calm as he turned back to Mick and Lisa. “Where to next, Piper?”

“Okay. To get to the Cortex the fastest, without the elevators, and minimal contact with possible reflections, you can take the emergency stairs. The door should be unlocked since it’s on the backup generator. Head down the hallway and take the first right.”

Len and the others worked like a flawless stealth unit, all having worked together for many years, able to predict each other’s movements and keep every corner covered without even using words most of the time. They still used up another eight minutes getting up the stairs. They were on borrowed time no matter what happened next. 

The main labs, which sported the majority of Team Flash’s work stations and a medic room, was deserted, building a feeling of nausea in Len’s gut. 

“Move to the back of the room and take the door to the right. It leads to the lounge and kitchen area,” Hartley said.

Len pushed ahead of the others, moving swiftly, faster than they’d started, thinking that at any moment Barry might come flashing in and catch them. There was a divot for a handle in the sliding door, but when Len tried to move it, it wouldn’t budge. 

“Locked. Mick?” 

Mick grinned and aimed his gun. 

“ _Wait_ ,” Lisa hissed. “You’re forgetting to use your brain, Lenny. Relax.” She walked up to the door, then with a pointed look at both of them, rapped her knuckles against it. “Anyone in there?” she whisper-yelled to the other side.

Len stiffened, because a locked door did not mean it was safe to announce their presence. 

A silent moment passed, but just as Lisa backed away with a shrug, and Mick readied to burn the door to cinders after all, a small voice called back. 

“Who is that?”

“Cisco?” Lisa flew back to the door, not masking the emotion in her voice. “It’s Lisa. You alive in there?”

“Lisa?” Cisco parroted her with disbelieving giddiness. “You are a _goddess_ , no joke. Cold and Heat Wave with you?”

“With bells on,” Len said as he moved to stand beside his sister. “Open up.”

“We can’t. Barry locked the door from both sides.”

Len had never been as troubled and relieved to be proven right. “Move back!” he called to Cisco, then shooed Lisa away so he could blast the door with his cold gun. He reared back with a kick once it was frosted over, but whatever the door was made out of, it was far more reinforced than the duct. Len turned back to Mick. 

With a nod as if to say ‘about damn time’, Mick took aim and burned every inch Len’s ice had touched, further destabilizing the integrity of the door. When he stepped forward and gave an impressive kick to rival Len’s, it gave way with a cascade of smoking dust. 

Lisa dove through ahead of Len, waving the ashes out of the way. Len followed at her heels, with Mick right behind them. The STAR Labs lounge was a mess, with blankets and dishes strewn about, as if those inside had been there…well, all day and last night. 

Everyone they had hoped to find—West, his daughter and son, Cisco and Caitlin—were accounted for. They looked tired and haggard, and Caitlin had her right arm in a sling like it had been sprained or broken. Len didn’t miss how everyone looked a little more vigilant when Mick entered last. 

Len scanned the room with a hush and a finger to his lips like he’d done with Singh. Team Flash had covered the TV, but there were several surfaces that could potentially allow Scudder a window inside. 

_There_. No computer or laptop, but a tablet rested on the coffee table. Len went to it, found the USB port, and plugged in the flash drive. Just like at the precinct, every surface that had been glossy and reflective moments ago turned matte. 

“Hey!” Cisco said like an accusation, as he untangled himself from Lisa’s embrace. 

“What happened?” Len demanded. West sat with his kids on the sofa, Cisco remained standing by Lisa, and Caitlin sat in a chair cradling her injured arm. “Scratch that,” Len shook his head, “there isn’t time. Have you seen Scudder since Barry…changed?”

“No.” West frowned. “But we know he’s behind this.”

“That’s why Barry turned off the Miasma Maker,” Cisco said, gesturing to the frosted surfaces. “Has to be. But we haven’t seen the guy. Only Barry. It’s like some Jekyll and Hyde trick. We’ve been trying to figure out some way out of here, but every time we come close, Barry appears. Super speed kind of makes it easy to be everywhere at once. And everything we’ve come up with so far to get one over on him might seriously hurt him.” 

“Tell me you have a plan,” Iris said, sitting close to her father and brother in support, but seemingly more for their sakes than hers. 

Twenty minutes had come and gone. They had to move. “This,” Len gestured to the flash drive, “only works on one room. Your Miasma Maker—it can affect the whole building?”

“Yes,” Cisco nodded.

“Where is it?”

“In the cortex, my main computer.” He gestured at the destroyed doorway. “We just need to turn it back on.” 

“Then let’s go. We turn it on…then wait for Barry. With the new upgrade to my gun—”

“Snart!” Singh’s voice blared over the comms, causing Len to wince. He held a hand to his ear. 

“What is it?”

“You better be ready. Allen just left.”

Len held himself together like steel. “You got that, Piper?” he said, unable to keep from using Hartley’s name if he wanted the kid to know who he meant, which made Cisco in particular scowl. “Tell us the second you see that lightning.” 

“Got it,” Hartley answered.

Then Len addressed the weakened Team Flash. “Move.” 

Everyone snapped to attention. While Mick moved further into the room to help Caitlin from her chair, which caused the good doctor to lean away from him at first before cautiously offering up her good arm, Len bee-lined for the door. 

Iris caught his wrist before he could reach it, suddenly right behind him as if she was the one with super speed. “He’s been better. Even when he wasn’t…he was never like this. What do you think Scudder did to him?”

Len paused before looking back at her. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. And we will get Barry back. We owe Scudder for this—all of us. So first we make sure he can’t get inside. Then we save Barry.”

Iris nodded as she released Len, wholly trusting of him, which Len still wasn’t used to from so many seeming strangers when he rarely found that even in his friends. 

Like a human train, one after the other, they made for the door to return to the cortex. Len had to wave his hand in front of the opening the way Lisa had in order to see clearly, since the frozen ashes were still drifting downward, creating an odd sort of smoke shield. 

Then, just as he was about to step through to the other side, he choked— _literally_ , as a powerful grip caught him by the throat, and a tall, familiar figure pushed into the room from out of the ash. 

“Barr—” Len tried to speak, while he heard the others gasp and Mick’s gun power up threateningly. Slowly, Len’s feet lifted from the ground. Why hadn’t Hartley warned them?

“Tell me, Snart,” Barry said, with a terrible, manic grin on his face and a cold look in his hazel eyes as he held Len without any effort. “Do you miss me?”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's any consolation, I don't think the next chapter will end on a cliffhanger, or if it does...it won't be a bad one. 
> 
> Thanks so much!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of Len's planning can't help him against an unexpected foe, but damn if he won't try anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been a week. A WEEK, but because it wasn't less than a week like usual, it feels like forever, lol. Well, sorry, I was visiting family this weekend, so had to play a little catchup. However, you'll all be happy to know that this chapter...doesn't end in a cliffhanger! Hard to believe that such a thing is even possible, right?
> 
> And just wow, as always I can't even begin to thank you all for your kind words and encouragement. I'm so excited to turn this fic into an original book idea when it's finished, and actually, during the drive to my parents, Mr. Crimson helped me work out some plot points and power ideas that has me super excited. Best husband ever. 
> 
> Also, for those who might not know, since I tend to neglect to mention it, you can also find me on tumblr at crimsondomingo.tumblr.com

Barry’s grip was so strong. Len struggled to get even a modicum of air, as the speedster stepped into the room through the ashes of the doorway. 

Then Barry stiffened. Glanced at his arm outstretched between them, and recoiled. He disappeared back outside the door with a snarl on his lips, leaving Len to drop dead weight to the floor. 

“Lenny!”

Len gasped as his windpipe opened, coughing into the floor and cringing at having landed roughly on his knees. Lisa and Mick appeared at his sides to help him up, while Mick looked ready to barrel through the doorway after Barry. 

“He just fuckin’ with us?” Mick spat. 

Len gripped his friend’s arm tight to make sure Mick didn’t do anything rash. It was too much to ask that Barry might have recoiled from hurting Len. “Must have noticed the reflections...and worried the real Miasma Maker was back on. Piper,” Len rasped over the comms, “where was my warning?”

“What? He’s there? There wasn’t any lightning!” A sound of rustling came over the channel as Hartley moved. “I’ve got the full view from up here, boss. I swear, there was nothing.”

“No lightning…” Len repeated.

“Should we call in Shawna?” Lisa asked.

“Shawna? Baez is with you too?” West demanded with a scowl. They were all huddled too close together near the doorway, Iris having taken Mick’s spot helping Caitlin, while West’s son looked far too young to be a part of this at all, eyes wide as he took in the Rogues being there to rescue them. 

There wasn’t time to explain themselves; Barry could come back at any moment. “We can’t use our trump card carelessly,” Len said, then snapped his attention to Cisco. “What’s the process for turning on your program?”

“Uhhh…” Cisco fumbled for a moment as everyone’s eyes shifted to him. “We just need to pull it up on my computer. Hit enter. Bam. No more reflections. But we’ll need full power back first.”

“Lisa, give him your comms,” Len ordered. “Peek-A-Boo?” he spoke into his own comms as Lisa complied.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Ramon is going to give you instructions for turning on a program in the main labs, at his computer terminal. Do you know where that is well enough to jump right to it when we need you?”

A sharp intake of breath. Len wouldn’t have asked; he knew how Shawna felt about this place. Team Flash had made a bad call, and justified it thinking they were doing it for the right reasons, but there was no excuse for keeping a young woman locked up in solitary when all she needed was someone to listen to her. 

Now Len needed her; he needed all of them to be better than their mistakes. 

“Yeah, boss,” she said again, soft but steady. “I can do it.”

“Then be ready,” he told her, and tried to convey the unspoken _thank you_ that accompanied it. He looked to Mick and Lisa in turn. “Only when we have a clear shot. Don’t call for her before then. Lisa, guard the crew here. Our guns will be more effective. Piper?” he called into the comms again. 

“Already working on getting the grid up and running. Care to lend a hand, Captain Singh?”

“Don’t think this is a sign of the times, _Piper_ ,” Singh said scathingly as if to indicate he easily could have said _‘Rathaway’_ and given up any pretense that he didn’t know exactly who he was talking to. 

Len left them to it. “Stay put,” he told Team Flash, and gestured Mick to the door.

“No way,” West surged forward, reduced to his slacks and button down, having discarded any suit coat or tie from yesterday, and clearly having been disarmed by Barry at some point. 

“West…” Len sighed with impatience. 

“That’s my _son_.” 

“Who’s kept you _prisoner_ for twenty-four hours.” Len stepped into West’s space. “If Scudder has him on a short leash, that’s good for us. You’ll be safer in here. That’s what Barry would want, and you know it. Our guns have the best chance of disabling him without anyone getting hurt. Then we lock out Scudder. Then we save Barry.”

West seethed with dissention, always so quick to emotional outbursts where Barry was concerned—but for his sake, not against him, never against him the way Len had grown up with. It warmed him more than he would ever tell West directly that Barry had had someone to raise him who loved him that fiercely. 

“You have to trust me,” Len said, expecting the scoff that followed. 

“Trust _you_?”

“Dad…” Iris tried to intervene.

“Hand West a set of comms,” Singh’s voice came over the line again. 

Len paused before looking to Cisco, who was about to hand Lisa’s comms back to her after explaining things to Shawna. “Just a merry band of misfits,” Len grumbled, as he took the comms from Lisa before she could replace them in her ear, and shoved them at West. “Doesn’t matter whether you trust me or not. Barry does. So I’ll do what I have to, whatever it takes, to get him back to his senses and make sure Scudder pays for what he’s done.”

While West frowned but obediently lifted the comms to his ear, Len tuned out whatever Singh said to him and turned for the door. He was surprised and troubled that Barry hadn’t yet tried to come back inside. Kid was waiting for them to make a move against the Miasma Maker. He’d be ready, whatever they attempted next, so they had to be smarter. 

The others held back as Len and Mick approached the door from either side. The ashes had all crumbled. It was clear now into the other room, though they couldn’t see much through the narrow opening or with the building still bathed in dim blue from the emergency lights. 

Len glanced back once to see Lisa standing in front of the others with her gun held aloft like a bodyguard. Then he nodded to Mick, and just before they dashed through the opening, he heard Singh say, “Wouldn’t be on this channel, Joe, if I didn’t believe he meant to do right by Allen.” 

Starting in the corner of the cortex was to their benefit. It allowed them to hug the wall and stay close to one another as they surveyed the room. Barry wasn’t immediately visible, but there were many crevices to hide in, doorways and side rooms and ripe places for ambush. Len kept Mick boxed closer to the wall so he could ready his gun with the heat field. Once they were safely out of range of the others, he told Mick to turn it on. 

“The hell—” Mick oomphed before there was even the telling click of the switch being flipped. 

Len whirled around to see Mick facing the shiny surface of the wall behind them with his hands held out—empty. 

“Asshole took my _gun_ ,” Mick growled, large hands forming into intimidating fists. 

Len pulled his own gun close and gestured for Mick to back up with him, as he flipped on the cold field to ensure that Barry didn’t zip past him as well. Now Mick was more of a liability than any help, since Len had to keep him close or risk catching him in the field too. 

Cautious, slow, they moved away from the walls into the center of the room, edging closer to Cisco’s computer as they waited for the power to return. There was constant chatter over the comms: Lisa back on now, having retrieved her comms from West, checking on Hartley and Singh as they worked together to get the power up—much harder than having it cut. 

Len’s eyes scanned every surface around them, with Mick at his back to do the same the other direction, giving them an almost 360-degree view of the cortex. Nothing. 

“I can wait all night for you to slip up, Cold!” Barry called to them from…somewhere. “Why make it easy on you?”

Len expanded the cold field further, just slightly, couldn’t risk going too far when he couldn’t see how wide the radius stretched. Barry had to be at the edges of the room, hiding in the med room maybe? With the treadmill? Where _was_ he? 

“Got it!” Hartley cheered over the comms, and almost instantly a hum filled the building as the main power surged to life, and the lights began to flicker on one by one. 

Len blinked against the brightness. If they could just get to the computer terminal, or were certain they had a window to call in Shawna without Barry waiting in the wings to interfere. 

“Never did play fair, did you?” Barry said, not any more visible than when the lights were off. “Maybe I should try things your way.” 

A flicker of light was Len’s only warning that wherever Barry was hiding, he had the heat gun, and he’d powered it up to fire. Len turned and tackled Mick to the floor, because with the cold field on, they had no idea what a shot from the heat gun would do. 

Fire roared toward them as they landed hard, but when the blast reached the cold field, it poofed out of existence, erupting in a shower of thick snowfall. Mick grumbled complaints beneath Len, as Len struggled to get up and get a better grip on his gun to inspect their surroundings. They were by the main desk—Cisco’s computer was right _there_ —but Len only just managed to roll away from Mick and start to heft up his gun when a foot stomped it back to the floor. 

Somehow Barry was there, within the eye of the cold field with them, as if he’d appeared from nothing, with no traces of frost on his clothing. 

Len wasn’t this helpless. He’d bested The Flash before. Sure, he hadn’t been invested then. Hadn’t cared whether or not the kid got hurt. Hadn’t _loved_ him. But that shouldn’t make him this sloppy when he was facing a challenge with a clear head. The rules had been twisted. Something was wrong, more so than what he’d felt the moment he entered Jitters that morning. 

He knew Barry. Knew how to gauge his powers and counter him, no matter how different he was acting. 

Barry stood over them, holding the heat gun, which he trained on Mick’s head. Mick rolled onto his back but stayed down with a fierce glare, while Barry bent to flip the cold field off, then kicked the cold gun beneath the desk out of reach. He hauled Len up by the back of his neck as if he weighed nothing, slammed him down onto the desk face first, and pressed the end of the heat gun to his temple. 

“Hey!” Mick snarled from the floor. 

“Barry, stop!” Len heard from Iris. Damn do-gooders never listened.

Len peeked back toward the lounge from where his face pressed to the desk—was Barry always this strong? Iris wasn’t the only one in view. Lisa stood at the forefront with her gold gun trained on Barry, with Iris and Detective West flanking her.

Barry laughed. “You’re not gonna fire. You want to save me. You’re all so pathetic.” He withdrew the heat gun but only so he could flip Len over and lift him from the table by the neck again, not quite enough to choke him this time, but still firm. He left the heat gun on the desk.

“Peek—” Lisa started to say.

“ _No_ ,” Len croaked, shaking his head as best he could through Barry’s unforgiving grip. They couldn’t risk calling for Shawna now. Barry was too fast. They needed him incapacitated first, at least distracted enough that she could have the fifteen seconds she needed. 

“Still plotting, are you?” Barry cocked his head at Len, while Mick stood up behind him and made to pounce. Barry increased his grip until Len choked audibly, and flashed Mick a smile. “Really wanna risk it, big guy?” Mick backed off, backed up toward the others, and Barry laughed again. “You were playing it up before, huh?” He looked at Len. “Acting all sullen, when you were really planning a raid. Smart. That’s why Singh called me, isn’t it? I’ll have to pay a visit back at the precinct next. See, I’ve been playing things too nice. Should have just killed them all,” he said, glancing at his friends continuing to spill out of the lounge door, at his _family_ as if they were fodder.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Singh cursed over the comms, amazed at what he was hearing.

“They tried to stop me, talk me down, like I’m some _child_. Sweet Doctor Snow even tried to give me a sedative, can you believe it? Organized an intervention just because I wanted a little fun. Suddenly, the gang was all here!” Barry spread his free arm out to encompass everyone while his right hand held Len in place like a warning of just how easily he could carry through on his threats. “Made it easier to tuck them away. But now…I think they’re too much hassle to keep _breathing_.”

Len choked in lieu of the sudden squeeze that accompanied the word. Lisa kept her cool, didn’t even flinch, and Mick merely clenched his fists tighter, but the Wests, all the others, betrayed their grief for what had become of their friend.

“Is that…what Scudder told you?” Len said, gasping and coughing when Barry’s grip tightened further.

“ _Scudder_ ,” he repeated as if the name tasted bitter on his tongue. “Can’t you get anything right, Cold? It’s _Mirror Master_ ,” he hissed, and leaned in so close that Len could see the flecks of golden brown in his eyes that, for a moment, flickered _red_. 

Like Wells. Like Barry’s evil reflection that Len had never seen, but that Barry had been so sure existed, and so terrified of what it represented. But that had just been Scudder, hadn’t it? That was only…Scudder. 

The missing pieces tumbled into place like dominos, and Len’s gaze hardened. 

No lightning. Len hadn’t seen it once even in this room, watching Barry zip around, divesting Mick of his gun, appearing inside the cold field without a shred of frost on him. Had he been zipping at all, or just disappearing and reappearing somewhere else, in a room filled with _reflections_? The final piece of evidence was the most damning of all, because the moment he’d entered a room with its reflections closed off, he’d turned and fled. 

Len stared into Barry’s wild, cruel face, and closed his own grip around the slim wrist attached to the hand choking him. He was such a fool, for all his planning and instincts about what must have happened. Scudder hadn’t infected Barry—he’d _replaced_ him. 

Len rammed his knee up into _Scudder’s_ groin, and all at once the imposter’s grip released. Scudder keeled over as Len toppled back against the desk, steadying himself instantly to snatch up Mick’s gun and point it forward no matter how much Team Flash called for him to stop.

“Curious thing, _Scarlet_ ,” Len said coldly as the enemy before him stood up straight again with a sneer, “but your reflexes seem a bit…slow.”

XXXXX

Barry was so tired. So hungry. He’d passed out more than once, but the scenes that played before him in the various mirrors in his line of sight always roused him. 

Trapped inside a mirror, forced to stand, forced to witness Reverse Barry revel in doing so many terrible things. Barry didn’t care about the stealing, much as it ruined his good name as The Flash. He’d been ready to go to jail for Len, after all. But then his reflection had gone to STAR Labs, and Barry felt true panic. 

Suddenly he had been looking through a mirror into the Cortex as his other self grinned, and Cisco came in asking why the Miasma Maker was off. Barry’s heart trip-hammered—stopped in his chest. He was so afraid for his friends. For his family, when they showed up too, all of them, because Cisco and Caitlin had seen what Reverse Barry did—the stealing, causing chaos in his Flash suit instead of helping people—so they’d called in the cavalry.

Reverse Barry had laughed at them. Said such awful things to them. Things Barry had said before and regretted, worse things, but he wasn’t himself when he talked like that. Only maybe he was. Maybe this was the real him, maybe he was just crazy, had finally snapped, trapped in his own mind, and Scudder had nothing to do with any of it. 

Caitlin had tried to get Reverse Barry with a needle when he wouldn’t listen to reason, and it broke as if his skin was tougher than it should be. He’d grabbed her arm. Squeezed it until she gasped. Until she _screamed_ , and watching it all, unable to do anything, Barry had heard the bones _crack_. Just like that night, what could have happened, _would_ have happened to that petty thief at the smoke shop if Cisco and Caitlin hadn’t talked some sense into him. 

Now it was too late. Now nothing could reach Barry anymore. 

He didn’t know what could be worse than what he’d already witnessed as his reverse self locked everyone away. But then hours passed, it was morning, and as Barry awoke, he found himself looking through a mirror into Jitters. His other self sat there smiling with coffee in hand, and waved someone over to join him. 

_Len_. He looked so strange in a hat and glasses—adorably strange—but Barry couldn’t enjoy the sight. His stomach clenched when he heard himself say even worse things to Len than he’d said to the others. 

And Len’s _face_. God. Barry just wanted to pass out again when the tightly-controlled thief got up and made a swift exit. He cried, and cried, and pounded the glass again, but there was no escape. He was getting weaker. Fading away. Disappearing until that other Barry was all that would remain. Barry could feel it, and he didn’t know if he could fight it. 

Only when he watched Len take two shots of whiskey, one after the other like all he wanted was to drown himself in liquor, did Barry pound the glass one more time and scream. 

As he cried out, pouring every ounce of his emotion and remaining strength into the bellow, he felt the Speed Force surge up within him, sparking lightning all around his body. He screamed louder. Pulsed stronger, hotter, brighter. And in that moment, when he didn’t think he had anything more inside of him to give, his power shot out of him like a light bulb bursting and the glass around him shattered. 

Barry toppled forward, landing on his knees inside the Mirror Maze. He was free.

But no…no. He was still trapped. His prison just had wider walls. But if he could get out of one mirror, then maybe he didn’t have to resign himself to being erased. He just needed to find the right mirror home, the one he had come through, that led to the hospital. If he could get back to the real world, then he could force his reverse self into the shadows again where he belonged. 

_Get up. Get up, get up, get up!_ Barry yelled at himself, and despite his fatigue, he pushed up onto unsteady legs. 

His friends and family needed him. The city needed him. Len needed him. He couldn’t sit back and cry, let life pass by in front of him and do nothing like he’d been allowing for so many months. He was still so tired. So hungry. So weak. But he couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not until his last breath, and he no longer wanted that to happen any time soon. 

Barry pulled the jacket from his shoulders and tossed it over what was left of the mirror he’d broken out of, as a beacon to remember where he’d started. Then he began to walk, touching a hand to the surfaces of every mirror he saw. When he found the one he could pass through, then he’d be able to go home. 

Hours must have gone by. His reflection hadn’t felt his escape. Must be distracted enough that if he was still playing footage for Barry, it was back by that neglected jacket, and all the mirrors Barry passed were empty. 

A few times, Barry caught sight of his other self, moving through the mirror world—a blur of color in an otherwise wasteland of crystal clear glass. Barry always hid as best he could behind the mirrors around him, but his reverse self wasn’t looking for him, wasn’t paying attention to where Barry was, and never caught sight of his jacket—the only reprieve Barry had been given. 

He had to keep going. Had to find the right mirror. Had to get home. He would not let his reflection win. 

Every once in a while, while glancing around for his jacket as his marker, instead of glaring light from the mirrors Barry passed, he’d swear he caught sight of himself, of red eyes in the depths of the glass. Barry would flinch, fearing that his reverse self had caught him, or that maybe…maybe Barry had been the Reverse all along. 

His jacket was so far away now, down a decline that made no sense with the way the mirrors spread out, the black floor that had no substance. Barry tried to move in an ever widening circle, but it wasn’t as simple as finding a mirror that should have been close to the one he’d been pushed into. The mirrors moved—they had to—shifted as they were used. It would be impossible for anyone to navigate this place unless they were a human compass, always pointing north. 

That thought made Barry pause, and he thought of Scudder. _Scudder_ , who had to be real, didn’t he? But only Barry had ever been in the Mirror Maze with him. Maybe it was all in Barry’s head, but if it wasn’t, if Scudder existed, if he could traverse this place without getting lost, then he had to—

Barry nearly fell, lost in thought as he mechanically reached out to each mirror he passed, feeling dazed and drained and so very weak—until the mirror he touched suddenly gave no resistance. 

Barry gasped as he righted himself, and held back from falling into the mirror just yet. This was it. This was the one. He couldn’t see through to the other side, Scudder had to allow him that, it seemed, but this had to be the way home. Without knowing how long his window of opportunity might remain open, or even knowing for sure where he might end up, Barry had to take the risk. 

He took a breath and dove through the mirror into the blinding light of the empty reflection. 

XXXXX

Len squared his shoulders as he aimed Mick’s gun. God help Scudder if he’d hurt Barry. 

“Snart, please,” Iris pleaded with him, but Len just shook his head, as the man wearing Barry’s skin stood before him. He couldn’t reach any reflective surfaces with the lights on and everyone looking at him unless he gave away that he had no speed—because he wasn’t a speedster. 

“No dice, Miss West,” Len said, ignoring the sting in his throat as he spoke and how bruised he’d be tomorrow from that grip. “I don’t need to hold back for fear of hurting Barry. Because _you’re_ ,” Len punctuated his words with a threatening jab of the gun at Scudder, “ _Not. Barry._ ”

With Mick and the others behind Scudder but slightly to his left, they could easily see the profile of his frightful grin that had been marring Barry’s face since last night. Lisa steadied her aim just as Len had, trusting him implicitly, as the others all gaped in various stages of confusion and horror.

Len barely blinked as he waited to see how Scudder would respond—because this was definitely Scudder. Somehow. Some way. He was strong when he had access to reflections, which had to be how he was pulling off this trick, but Len was still faster. 

Scudder took a step forward, and Len let the heat gun whir threateningly in response, hot in his grip since his gloves were used to staying chills. 

“You sure about that?” Scudder said.

“One hundred percent,” Len bit back, and took a step of his own. “Give me one good reason not to fry you right now.” 

“If you do,” Scudder raised his hands in mocking surrender, “you’ll never see the real Flash again.”

“You monster!” West bolted forward, forcing Mick to grab him by the arms and hold him back after he’d pushed past Lisa. “What have you done with my son!?”

Scudder laughed—in Barry’s voice. Len ached to pull the trigger. Finally, _finally_ he had Scudder out of the mirror world, but he couldn’t risk firing. He had no idea where Barry was. Well, he had a guess, but without knowing more about Scudder’s research into the mirror world, he had no idea how to access it without the bastard’s help.

“What do you want, Scudder?” Len seethed, enjoying, however fleetingly, the way the man gnashed his teeth at not being addressed as Mirror Master. 

“Always asking me that. What if I have what I want, _Snart_?” He kept his hands raised, but slowly…slowly started to bring them closer to his face. “What if this is all I’d ever ask for, and there is nothing you can do to stop me?”

“No!” Len dove forward as he realized what was about to happen, but before he could grab Scudder, the man vanished and Len’s hand grasped at nothing. He had the suit, the invisible Flash suit, with the button to turn it on up by the eye. 

Len spun around. Scudder was there. He was still there _somewhere_.

“Get back to the room!” Len shouted at the others, before calling into his comms, “Shawna—” but the air punched out of his lungs as something collided with his stomach. 

Len felt hands on him that he couldn’t see, and he tried to lash out against them, but the heat gun was knocked from his grasp. Before he could counter, he was thrown across the room toward the exit out of the Cortex where he slammed into the wall and crumbled. Desperate to get his bearings, Len fought to roll back to his feet before—

 _Shit._ He dove to the side, barely avoiding a blast of ice that covered half the wall behind him. A blue flash of light, different from before, had alerted Len to a nearby reflection—the cold gun.

Another flash ended in the wall where the cold blast had come from getting coated in gold. The others hadn’t retreated, but Len held out his hand and shook his head when Mick made to move toward him. It was better if Scudder focused on him.

Then Scudder was back, still looking like Barry as he materialized out of the window looking in on the treadmill, holding Len’s gun. He stared Lisa down while he kept the gun aimed at Len’s head. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded her. “Fire again and I’ll ice him. Unless you really think you’re faster, Goldie.”

“Hey,” Mick growled, “only I get to call the doll that.”

Len resisted the urge to smirk, easily banished when Scudder once again laughed with Barry’s voice. Calling for Shawna was a gamble even if one of them managed to finish saying her name. Scudder could attack from almost any angle before Cisco’s program was up and running, and he was so strong. He didn’t need Barry’s speed to be a threat. He could disappear into any reflection and turn invisible on the spot. Len had no plan for this; he had to improvise. 

“Shawna…” he said quietly while Scudder had his eyes on the others. 

“Shit, boss, is it now or never?” Shawna asked fearfully. 

“Center of the room, not the computer. Be ready to jump as soon as you see him.”

“The higher settings can be rather lethal, can’t they?” Scudder was saying, playing with Len’s gun as he amped up the cold output to absolute zero. Len wouldn’t survive a hit; he’d be fully covered and dead in seconds. But Shawna could avoid getting hit at all.

“Boss?”

“Now!”

Scudder’s attention whipped to the computer terminal at Len’s cry, but Shawna appeared as instructed in the center of the room. As soon as Scudder saw her and turned the cold gun toward her, she jumped again, behind him into the far corner near the medic room. 

While Scudder began to follow Shawna’s movements, which skipped around the room at an ever increasing frequency, Len darted to Cisco’s computer, the window with the treadmill behind him, as he followed the instructions Cisco had given Shawna to pull up the Miasma Maker. 

Fifteen seconds. He just needed fifteen seconds. They had to find Barry, but first they had to make sure Scudder wasn’t going anywhere. 

Len flicked his eyes up only briefly as Scudder snarled and fired at Shawna, who was always gone before he could zero in on her location. She was careful, never appearing somewhere where a stray shot might hit one of the others. She was a good kid. Brave too, when she hadn’t really known what she was in for other than what she’d heard over the comms. 

Ten more seconds. Len was in the right folder, he just needed to find the program, bring it up, and—

Five—

“I don’t think so,” Barry’s voice spoke beside Len’s ear, and then the barrel of the cold gun pressed to his temple, enough to make Len hiss from the residual iciness left in the wake of the blasts already fired. Two more keystrokes and all he needed to do was press ENTER. 

He met eyes with Lisa, Mick, and a distressed Shawna who poofed into existence in front of him, before he took a breath he believed to be his last, and resigned himself to finishing those few keystrokes anyway. 

“Say goodbye, Cold.”

Two. 

Such a familiar whir… 

_One._

A shock of lightning made the hair on Len’s arms stand on end as something zipped behind him at impossible speeds, and suddenly the cold gun was gone. 

Len shivered as he jerked his head to the left, to see _Barry_ in the clothes he’d been in yesterday, having bowled Scudder over onto the floor. He straddled Scudder and glared down at the man wearing his face as he trembled and continued to spark like he could barely keep his powers in check. 

Len slammed his hand down on the ENTER button, and like a shockwave, every surface in the cortex changed as though it had been painted opaque. Barry froze where he sat atop Scudder, about to rain blows down upon him, and gaped, as Len came around the desk and saw how the Miasma Maker was affecting him.

He’d been right—Scudder was wearing the dark Flash suit. But now it was impossible to see all of those tiny little mirrors, because Cisco’s program made the suit transform into a dull, muted grey. That was how Scudder had been doing this, projecting a perfect replica of Barry and augmenting his strength even more than usual because he had a thousand mirrors at his disposal in the shape of a man. 

Barry leaned back off of Scudder past the belt to the suit, looking dirty and pale and weak, like he’d barely had the strength to reach them. But as a moment’s pause passed, and everyone began to cry out to Barry and race toward him, Barry snapped to his senses and lunged forward like he might rip Scudder’s head from his shoulders. Instead, he tore off the mask. 

“It’s not me…” Barry said, more amazed than angry, as if part of him had believed that maybe this other Barry was really him. 

Scudder wore a sneer for all of ten seconds after the mask was removed—then grinned. He still had the cold gun!

“Barry!” Len called, meaning to knock Barry away from Scudder as soon as he swung the gun up, only he didn’t fire. He slammed the gun across Barry’s face, and because of how weak he was, how sluggish from whatever Scudder had done to him, Barry wasn’t fast enough to counter it. 

He toppled over with a groan, and Scudder scrambled to his feet. 

“Don’t even think about it!” Scudder yelled, aiming the cold gun at Barry—who wasn’t wearing the Flash suit and already looked so beaten. Scudder stared Len down, so close to them, damn it; Barry was right at Len’s feet, and Scudder was within charging distance. 

Len felt the others close at his back, everyone having moved up at Barry’s appearance, but in that moment, all of them froze. 

“You think you’re faster than the trigger of this gun,” Scudder looked behind Len, at Shawna, he assumed, “go ahead and try it.” He sneered down at Barry, who was still shaking his head from the blow. “Oh, Flash. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? I thought you’d learned your lesson by now, but no, no…you just keep asking to be hurt. Because if you think this was the extent of how much I can make you suffer, just you wait.” He laughed, grinning wider, and all the while inched closer around the desk to the computer, keeping the gun on Barry, then on Len, then Barry again. 

“You don’t know suffering,” Len said, cold and deadly, “but you will. That’s a promise.”

“Careful, Cold. You’ll give me chills,” Scudder taunted him, and then jammed down on the ENTER button to turn the Miasma Maker back off. 

“Shawna!” Len called, and as soon as Scudder turned to dive into the window behind him, she was on him.

Shawna appeared behind the bastard before Len had even finished saying her name, grasping after him, but she only managed to snag the cold gun. Scudder vanished into the glass, and without having to be told, Shawna twisted around and struck the ENTER button again to cut Scudder off from returning. 

Len dropped to his knees without another thought. “ _Barry_ ,” he called, reaching out to gather the kid to him, to lift him from where he’d fallen onto his side as he struggled to shake off a blow that normally wouldn’t have fazed him for more than a few moments. 

Barry stirred with another groan, allowing Len to lift him and manhandle him into his arms, but only when he looked up and met Len’s gaze did he turn and cling to Len like his life depended on it. It was like that night in the alley after they’d run from Scudder, both of them beaten and weak, but not defeated, not fully, as Barry curled into Len’s arms and settled into his lap right there on the cortex floor. 

He still had the greyed out mask to the dark Flash suit clutched knuckle-white in his grip. Len reached for it, touching Barry’s hands gently, and tried to coax them to open. It took a moment for Barry to understand, but once he did, he threw the mask away from him and reached for Len with renewed fervor, twisting his fingers into Len’s sweater and burying himself inside the parka. 

“ _Len_. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me…” he chanted in a feverish whisper. 

“Of course not,” Len assured him. He felt the others crowd around them like a cocoon of shadows that fell over their huddled forms, but if they spoke, he didn’t hear them. He didn’t look up. He merely held Barry as tightly as he could. “It was never you.” 

“The red eyes…” 

“It was Scudder, Barry. Only Scudder.”

Barry nodded against Len, and when Len closed his eyes and hugged Barry tighter, it was easy to pretend they were alone. 

“I’m sorry,” Barry whimpered, his voice tired and small, barely leaving him. “I’m so sorry.” 

He kept saying it, until Len had to shush him. Len could feel in the way Barry leaned against him, all his weight sagging, that Barry couldn’t hold himself up. Only then did he glance at those above them, seeing the Wests and Team Flash standing the closest, all oozing concern. Len caught Caitlin’s stare and nodded. Even with her arm in a sling, she nodded resolutely back and grabbed Cisco to drag him off and begin getting the med room ready. 

“He was here because of me,” Barry said, drawing Len’s attention back to him. “He said and…and did all those awful things…because of me.”

“Barry…” 

“I make everything worse for everyone.”

“ _No_.” Len shook Barry’s shoulders gently. “You don’t believe that anymore. You know better. You never need to say it or think it again. Look at me.” Len pulled his arms from being wrapped around Barry’s body and took his face in hand instead. He held Barry’s head with all the reverent affection he felt for him, not caring that they had an audience as he made sure those damp, weary, red-rimmed eyes looked at him. “You make my life better. Make _me_ better. Even when all you did was give me a worthy challenge,” he smirked.

Barry sniffed, and _laughed_ , such a sweet wholly unique sound from how Scudder had imitated it. Despite the weariness creeping into his bones with the great relief of finally being home, tears filled his eyes and he smiled back at Len so beautifully. 

“We can be better, Barry,” Len promised him, brushing away the tears that escaped his eyes like he’d done so many times before, too many times, yet he’d do it again, as often as it took. “We will be better. We just need to start over.”

“No.” Barry shook his head, but his somber smile didn’t waver. “Not over. _Again._ We…we can start again?” the last phrase came out as a shaky, hopeful question, and Len knew better than to let it linger unanswered.

“Yeah, kid,” he huffed out like a relieved laugh. “We can.”

Barry snuggled back into Len’s chest, but while he hid his face for a moment, he soon looked up again. “Len, can you…please…just tell me…”

“What, Barry?” Len asked, because if Barry needed to hear him say ‘I love you’, as much as the thought made Len’s insides twist with so many people listening in, he’d comply in a heartbeat.

But that wasn’t what Barry asked. “What color are my eyes?” he said, timid, fearing the answer no matter how much he tried to be brave. 

Len ached from the depths of his chest to the base of his spine, he loved this kid so much. “Green, Scarlet,” Len said, and smiled a little wider for how he’d unintentionally used the one nickname that conjured another color. “They’ve always been green. Or that gorgeous yellow I’ll never tire of seeing.” He stroked beneath Barry’s eyes again, and wished he wasn’t wearing his gloves so he could feel the kid’s skin.

“I’m not like him…” Barry said, eyes drooping in exhaustion. 

“Never.” 

“I’m…” and then Barry went limp, all his remaining weight falling against Len in a rush.

“Barry? _Barry?_ ” Len’s voice rang with a note of panic, but the others were there, all at once, so many helping hands reaching down to take Barry from him. Half of Len wanted to fight against their intrusion, but then he saw Caitlin and Cisco, and he knew that Barry needed them to get better.

Scudder had left Barry starved and dehydrated and soul-weary. Barry needed more than just Len, just like Len needed more than only thieving and a place to rest his head, more than a single dear friend, a sister he couldn’t live without, and a handful of others he kept at arm’s length—and it was Barry who taught him that. 

Iris and her brother reached down to help Len stand, while Mick was the one who finally hefted Barry into his arms in a bridal carry and followed Caitlin and Cisco into the med room. 

Hartley and Singh asked questions over the comms that Lisa fielded so Len wouldn’t have to. Iris smiled at Shawna and thanked her, which made the tension creeping up in Shawna’s shoulders ease away despite being back in this place again, a place that reminded her of the worst that had ever happened to her and the worst she’d ever done. She smiled back at Iris with a grateful nod.

Then there was West, who moved toward Len with watery eyes and too much emotion bare on his face. He gripped Len’s arm, not to fight, but to offer gratitude that Len wasn’t sure he deserved. Barry had saved the day, and Shawna, both far more than he had, yet West met Len’s eyes and said “Thank you” in a way that made Len feel like maybe their merry band of misfits wasn’t so impossible a team up after all. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and happiness and everything you've been waiting for...before we get to the real final showdown with Scudder. Stay tuned. 
> 
> And well done to everyone who guessed Scudder's plan! Though joyouslee was the first to say it. If you could ALL figure it out early, it would mean I'm not doing my job. ;-)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry wakes and the plan against Scudder sets in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one's a doozy.

Barry awoke to a very familiar ache throughout his body as if his muscles were rebuilding themselves from scratch—as if he’d pushed himself too far on nothing but fumes, so he had to pay for it tenfold in his recovery. Which was exactly what had happened. Again. 

A soft groan left him as he fluttered his eyes open, vision blurry for a moment until his surroundings came into sharp focus. He was in the hospital bed at STAR Labs, tucked into the med room, which meant they’d been worried about him. Barry preferred when they pulled the bed out into the cortex, preferred when injuries that might lay up a normal person, even other meta humans, only required a brief rest before he was able to hit the streets again. At least then he didn’t feel this ache.

His shirt was off. And his shoes. He was wearing socks and slacks that he was pretty sure he’d had on… yesterday? Only what day was today? Was it still Thursday night? Most of the Labs didn’t have windows to the outside. 

He peered around for a clock, a tablet or computer to see the time, but instead his groggy mind took in the sight of a small gathering through the door out into the cortex, even though the glass window remained frosted. 

There was Joe talking with Captain Singh, and another man—was that the captain’s husband? Then Joe shifted out of the way, gesturing broadly as he talked, and Barry saw Len standing amongst them. 

The full memory of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four—forty-eight?—hours assaulted Barry as he roused fully, and while a fresh ache ricocheted through his body, he felt alert and rejuvenated—determined. He was still so hungry, but no longer starved and dehydrated since he had an IV running through him. He’d been through so much worse since that first bout with superhuman hypoglycemia; this would not keep him bedridden. 

Barry tore the IV out, tore the heart monitor from his chest, and the machines around him screamed. The men through the doorway turned and saw him, and as a whole they bolted into the room. Somehow, Caitlin beat them to the bed, though Barry didn’t see where she had come from. 

“Barry, what are you doing?” she scolded him, with just as much authority in her tone as ever despite the state of her arm, more properly set now in a cast after Scudder had broken it. She gently pushed on Barry’s chest with her good arm when he stood from the bed. “You should—”

“I’m fine,” Barry said, willing strength to fill his voice rather than the rasp that left him. He felt stronger than he appeared once he was on his feet. He was the Energizer Bunny, damn it, as Cisco was so fond of calling him; ever rechargeable, ever ready to face what lay ahead—he had to be. 

Joe came forward first, who Barry was so glad to see was okay. He wanted desperately to ask if everyone else was too, since no one new appeared, but he couldn’t help that his eyes strayed to Len. 

Singh and Rob—definitely Rob, Singh’s husband—stood back inside the doorway, while Caitlin turned the machines off to silence their squealing. Joe hugged Barry, and Barry sagged into the embrace gratefully, though it also made him aware of just how much he needed and wanted a shower. 

And breakfast. Lots of breakfast. 

“What’s going on?” Barry asked when no one said anything. 

“You should be resting,” Len said rather than answer him. 

“I’m fine,” Barry said again, wishing Len would come forward and hug him too, when Joe stepped back. 

Everyone around him, Rob included, looked at Barry skeptically as if he painted the saddest, sorriest picture standing there in just his socks and pants and skinny frame, and maybe he did, but Barry had had enough pity. 

“Okay, I’m not fine,” he said plainly. “But I will be. I’m awake. I’m here. So just...tell me what’s going on. Where’s Scudder?” 

Finally, Len came forward, and Barry reached for him reflexively. Len clutched Barry’s hand to his chest when Barry curled his fingers into the other man’s shirt. His shirt, not his sweater, not his Captain Cold gear. He wore one of his long-sleeved shirts and jeans—casual, even in the den of his once-enemy.

“He escaped,” Len said quietly, like he feared Barry might barrel out the door in search of Scudder. Barry wanted to, wanted to get his hands on Scudder so badly, but he knew better than to think that was a good idea without a plan.

“Everyone’s safe though…right?” Unless Barry had missed something terrible after he passed out.

A smile cracked Len’s expression. “We’re safe, Barry. Moved into the Labs for a while in case Scudder tries to target anyone. Including Carla and the kids,” he added with a hesitant shrug. “Wally’s giving ‘em a tour. Should have seen Michael’s excitement meeting The Flash’s younger brother.”

Barry chuckled at the image that conjured. “ _He’s_ barely had a tour.”

“I think he just wanted an excuse to hold that baby.” Joe’s low rumble of laughter reminded Barry that they were not alone.

“The others?” Barry asked, glancing nervously around the room when he remembered that Cisco, Iris, Mick, Lisa, and Shawna Baez had all somehow been present, though maybe he’d imagined some of what he’d seen. He had been pretty out of it. He barely believed he’d had the reserves to flash to the Labs at all after his escape into the hallway at the hospital.

“Some still asleep. Pretty early yet,” Len said, confirming that it was the next morning as he released Barry’s hand, though Barry was reluctant to drop it. “But everyone’s fine, Barry. Cisco and Hartley are working on some tweaks to the Miasma Maker.”

Hartley as well? Wow. And they’d all come together…to save Barry? “The rest of the neighborhood too?” he joked, half serious, because a few days ago he wouldn’t have believed any of these people could be in the same room together, let alone team up to save the city, to save him.

“Can’t move everyone in,” Len said with a smirk. “Shawna’s keeping an eye on things on the streets. Most the others already knew your secret. Had to tell Mick and Shawna though. And, well…” he raised an eyebrow as he cast a glance at Rob, who smiled bashfully.

“Sorry, Allen.” Singh gripped his husband’s shoulder. “Scudder said he’d come after me at the precinct. Couldn’t risk him trying something at home.”

“It’s okay,” Barry smiled at both of them. He’d witnessed the desperate love between these men in more than one timeline, when Singh had ended up in the hospital because of Mardon, and then after Barry had changed things, when Rob had been the one at risk. “You’re more than welcome here, Rob. Sorry to involve the captain like this.”

“That’s my fault,” Len said. “I needed help—”

“I have free will, Snart,” Singh cut him off—and yet, Barry was starting to realize that when the captain got that particular look of frustration on his face, he wasn’t really angry at the person it was directed toward. The way Rob failed at hiding a smile proved that. “It was my choice. Scudder needs to be stopped.”

“Yes, he does,” Barry said firmly, “which means we need a plan. That’s what Cisco and Hartley are working on? What you were talking about?” 

The silence that followed, and Len’s continued distance even standing a foot in front of Barry, spoke so much louder than anything they might have said. Barry understood that Len wasn’t openly affectionate around others, but right now it seemed as though he was holding back for another reason.

“You didn’t call any of our Star City friends, did you?” Barry eyed Joe fearfully. The last thing he wanted was to involve Oliver.

“This party’s big enough,” Len said—and now Barry was really worried, because Len wasn’t trying to mask the sorrow in his expression, even with Joe and Caitlin and the captain of the damn precinct right there to witness him acting outside his Captain Cold persona. 

“Len…?” Barry turned to him. 

“We are working on a plan, Barry,” Len said. “We know we need to act within the next few days, or we’ll be at a disadvantage. We can’t give Scudder time to work out a better plan against us. Between Cisco and Hartley, and the ideas you worked on with Wally, we think we have a chance. We also think…” his expression hardened as if broaching no argument to what came next, “that you should sit this one out.”

“What?” Barry surged forward, right up into Len’s space. “No way. I just need a good meal and some rest, and I’ll be fine. You can’t face him without me.”

“Barry—” Joe came to Len’s defense. 

“I have to help. I have to,” Barry pushed on, betraying his desperation, but he didn’t care. “You need me. I’m the only one who can take the worst he might dish out and still walk away.” 

“He _tortured_ you,” Len’s near-shout startled Barry. He pulled back, leaning away from Len’s suddenly visible fury that he’d been hiding behind distance and grief. Len’s fists clenched at his sides as he stepped into Barry’s space in turn. “Scudder had already done enough, was cruel enough. Then he replaced you, got inside your head, made you think…” His voice cracked as he struggled to contain his emotions, something Barry had seen so rarely, he stood stunned. 

Then Len caught himself and stuttered back. “I don’t even care how he tried to mess with me. He kidnapped you and was going to let you waste away to nothing just to get a good laugh. If you weren’t…you, the state you were in when you passed out last night…” He cringed and shook his head.

Going twenty-four hours without nourishment for Barry was like a normal person going three to four days. Without food, he was weak. Without water…

“If I was a normal person, a day wouldn’t have been a big deal,” Barry tried to say offhandedly, to lighten the load of just how bad it had been. 

Len’s expression was too open as he returned Barry’s stare, too raw with what he was feeling. “I’m not talking about the physical, Barry. That monster wanted to break you. I know what it means to do that to someone. Where the line is to do just enough so that they’re compliant without pushing too far. Scudder doesn’t give a shit about that line.”

“No. He doesn’t.” Barry gathered his composure even in the face of Len losing his. “But keeping me out of the fight won’t change that. He’ll just target you, target everyone, be just as terrible to everyone else, and still try to get to me. You know he will.” Barry reached for Len, wouldn’t let him back away or shrug him off as he grasped Len’s hands and gazed into those fierce blue eyes. “He did get into my head. And maybe he’ll always be there now. I know this isn’t something I can just heal, like my body heals, I know that. But if I’m going to have any chance at beating this, then I have to be a part of beating him. I need to do this. And you need my help. Please.”

He squeezed Len’s hands tighter, and the one reprieve he got was that Len didn’t fight his touch. 

“We figured you’d say that,” Joe said with a wistful sigh. 

Barry looked at his father, looked past him to find amusement on Rob and Caitlin’s faces, and maybe some of that fond exasperation on Singh, but it was Len who looked resigned like he wished he could convince Barry otherwise.

“Thank you,” Barry said, looking with heartfelt gratitude around the room, “all of you, for everything. But we do this together, or we don’t do it at all. I know what he’s done to me, Len,” Barry pulled the other man closer with a tug of his hands, “what he’s been trying to do to us. Bringing him to justice is one of the few things I might have some control over in my life, and I…I need that. I won’t let you risk yourself to protect me, when I’m the best weapon we’ve got. Stopping Scudder, putting him away, it won’t fix me, but I need to prove to myself that I can do it, that I can beat someone like him without…turning into him.”

“Barry…” Len said softly, but Barry wasn’t drowning in his sorrows right now; he didn’t need pity or protection, he just needed their support. 

He squeezed Len’s hands one more time before he let go. “I’ll be okay,” he said, mustering a smile, not forced, just necessary, and looked around the room again. “What’s the plan so far?”

“Oh no.” Caitlin came forward with a click of her heels, decisively but gently knocking Len out of the way so she could push Barry back toward the bed. “After I’ve given you a thorough exam. Then gotten some food in you. Then—”

“Gotten you into the shower, dude, coz wow,” Cisco’s voice spoke over Caitlin, causing Barry’s head to whip to the door beyond Singh and Rob to find his friend wedging himself inside with Hartley on his tail. “Your hair always stick up that many directions in the morning?” Cisco teased with a relieved looking grin. 

“Yes,” Len and Joe answered in unison—for very different reasons, which made Barry and Cisco sputter into laughter. Hartley joined them once he noticed Joe’s scowl, until Cisco smacked his shoulder.

Barry caught Len’s anxious gaze and smiled at him as genuinely as he could. He didn’t care whether or not Joe approved. Nothing could ruin that Len was here, that he’d said things didn’t have to end between them. They could start again. Once Scudder was taken care of, they could start again without any lies or disasters looming. That’s all Barry wanted. The rest, the real healing, could come slowly. 

He wished he could forget about getting checked over and cleaned up so he and Len could have a few moments alone, but in lieu of that option, he tried to project to his nemesis/lover/friend how happy he was just to see him, before the bustle of people moving in and out of the med room distracted him. 

Barry allowed Caitlin to settle him back on the bed, sitting this time, not lying down, if only to briefly appease everyone, but he was not staying out of the fight. He was done hiding, done running from the responsibilities that lay ahead of him.

“Okay,” Cisco moved in beside the bed and began gushing to Barry despite Caitlin’s scoff that they could wait fifteen minutes for her to finish her check, “Wally is a certified genius, and definitely the new STAR Labs mascot. We have an idea…”

It didn’t matter that they didn’t know what Scudder’s real meta ability was, what mattered was what he did right in front of their eyes, and if they were going to prevent him from escaping through mirrors forever, then they needed to cut him off from the Mirror Maze. Basically, what they’d done in the cortex yesterday, but without the threat of him escaping again. 

“Amazingly enough, putting our heads together did not end in homicide,” Hartley said, sitting on Barry’s other side and smirking at Cisco, while Cisco tried and failed to glower back at him. They were both clearly too excited by this challenge to care about any rivalry or bad blood. 

Together they’d managed to perfect the Miasma Maker into something portable. Before, they might have been able to hook the program into a tablet and carry that tablet around, but the radius would have been unpredictable. That method could work for traveling safely to the location of their planned ambush against Scudder, but they needed more than that once he showed up. 

“You’ve built the Miasma Maker into the cold and heat guns?” Barry gaped at them once they’d explained the plan so far. 

“Wasn’t difficult,” Hartley shrugged smugly. 

“Once we realized our technologies were working on very similar principles,” Cisco put in. “But Wally was the one who suggested it.”

“This way Snart and Rory will know exactly how far the Miasma Maker extends,” Hartley beamed.

“But won’t they need their goggles for that?” Barry asked in concern. He recalled that Len hadn’t been wearing his goggles last night. Too risky that Scudder could use the small reflections against them.

“Notice anything?” Hartley tapped the side of his glasses—his _glasses_ , Barry realized with a jolt—with lenses that, despite the Miasma Maker being on, weren’t fogged over. 

“The trick is for them to not be reflective,” Hartley explained. “I can tweak the goggles to be the same by tomorrow easy.”

“Then we, what?” Barry asked, finally allowed to hop off the hospital bed as Caitlin gave him a grudging thumbs up. He greedily accepted the plate of food Rob handed him—and wow, Singh was a lucky man, because Rob was a really good cook; it was almost as good as Len’s French toast, which Barry didn’t think was possible, and Rob had even included scrambled eggs and a banana.

“Your friends said you needed to eat a lot, so…” he shrugged with a sincere smile before ducking back out into the cortex to join Singh. 

“Thank you!” Barry called after him, and then tried to focus on Cisco and Hartley as he spoke between shoveling in bites. “Are we supposed to get into the Mirror Maze and turn on one of the fields?”

“That’s a big no,” Cisco held up both hands, and Hartley likewise shook his head. “We don’t know what this mirror world is exactly. If you cut off the reflections while inside of it, you could seal yourself in there forever.”

“Or cease to exist,” Hartley added matter-of-factly. 

Barry was thankfully hungry enough that the way the pit in his stomach deepened did not affect his appetite. “So the guns are for after we get Scudder into the real world. Okay,” Barry nodded. “We start with mine and Wally’s plan, create a fun house out of town too tempting for Scudder to resist—”

“While the Miasma Maker is on,” Cisco interrupted. 

“Then when we’re ready, we turn it off,” Barry continued, understanding where they were going with this. “Scudder shows up, we close off mirrors as needed to limit where he can go with Len and Mick’s guns, then we just need to get Scudder out of the mirror world before we seal him off for good. It’s perfect.” He smiled at the pair of masterminds before him. “So…how do we lure him out of the Mirror Maze?” 

Cisco and Hartley turned to each other and shared a pinched look, before both of them shrugged. 

“We’re still working on that part,” Hartley said.

Barry’s mind spun with the details, the many moving parts and team effort that would be required to pull this off. The plan wasn’t foolproof, but they were working on it—together. Team Flash and the Rogues, even Captain Singh and a few too many civilians. A sense of liberation accompanied the culmination of this support, even with Scudder still on the loose. 

Barry continued to scarf down his breakfast, feeling so much better just from a few normal calories hitting his stomach that an IV could not replicate. Through the door out into the cortex he could see Joe talking with Singh and Rob. Cisco and Hartley had fallen into a tense discussion about ways they could trick Scudder out of the mirror world, while Caitlin busied herself with Barry’s test results, muttering about how miraculous his metabolism was.

It was only then, as Barry was finally ready to take a shower, brush his teeth, and change into fresh clothes to feel something like a normal human again, that he realized Len had left some time ago and was nowhere to be seen. 

XXXXX

Barry felt a dull ache in his stomach as if his food had solidified, a sense of urgency to find Len now that he’d finished getting ready. He’d looked for Len on his way to the bathroom with an armful of clothes from his stash at the Labs, but Joe had said he’d headed off to catch up with Wally and his ‘tour group’. 

Now that Barry was clean and fed and refreshed, he wanted to find him. They deserved some time alone, however brief it might last. Len was probably upset with him for not listening about staying out of the fight. Barry would have preferred to keep Len out of the fight too, but he knew better than to think that would ever happen. 

It was hard to get used to STAR Labs being painted in matte finishes, the lack of reflective surfaces making Barry a little self-conscious about how much his hair might be sticking up, even washed with some of his gel combed through it. Not that he was complaining; mirrors were definitely overrated. But he still ran his fingers through his hair in a nervous tick. 

“Barry!” Michael’s bright voice called to him from down the hallway as Barry rounded a corner. 

He looked up with a flush of excitement, expecting to see Len too—only to see just Wally, Carla holding baby Mai, and Michael barreling toward him. 

Barry fought to not let his disappointment show as Michael reached him, diving into a hug that Barry crouched down to accept, laughing as he held Michael to him. “Wow, that’s quite a welcome. Get a good tour, Michael?”

“Yeah!” Michael smiled widely as Carla and Wally caught up to him. “Your brother’s really cool. He knows all about this place.”

“He does, huh?” Barry raised an eyebrow at Wally. 

“I may have done a research paper on STAR Labs once.” Wally beamed his patented West smile.

“Me too. Though possibly more than once.” Barry chuckled.

A gentle tug on the edge of his shirt drew his attention downward. “Flash?” Michael said, then frowned. “I can call you Flash when we’re in your hideout, right?” he dropped his voice to a whisper. 

Barry met Carla’s eyes and had to smile at her fond eye-roll. “Yeah, buddy,” he said as he looked at Michael again, “you can. Everyone here knows my secret. You’re part of a very exclusive club now.” 

“Slightly less exclusive than it was a few weeks ago,” Wally muttered, and Carla giggled, just as baby Mai stirred and started to fuss.

“Hey now,” Carla’s voice took on a melodic quality as she hoisted the baby up on her shoulder. “Did we dare stop moving, your highness?”

“Flash,” Michael tugged on Barry again. “Miss Lisa got me a Flash doll. Wanna see?”

 _Of course she did_. “Sure, Michael,” Barry said, watching Carla bob her way to an open doorway in the hallway, and when he peeked in he saw that it had been filled with what he assumed were Carla’s actual possessions, crib and all. Peek-A-Boo had been busy. Barry didn’t even remember what the room had been before, as Michael dashed in past him to retrieve the toy.

“You okay?” Wally rested his hand on Barry’s arm with the same gentleness as Michael’s tugs.

Barry flashed him a smile, then reminded himself that that was fine for Michael, but Wally didn’t need to be coddled. “Better being home,” he said honestly. “I thought Len was with you.”

“He was. For a while. But just to check in. Went down to help with the mirror trap, I think. Which…I was gonna…” he gestured down the hallway with a hopeful bite of his lower lip. 

“Go,” Carla called, easily overhearing them as she rocked Mai. “I got this. Feeding time anyway. Thanks for showing us around, Wally.”

“Hey, my pleasure,” he grinned. “See you soon, big man,” he called to Michael. 

“You’re not going too, are you, Flash?” Michael pouted as he came forward with his Captain Cold figure in one hand and a Flash doll in the other. 

“I can…stay,” Barry said, nodding to Wally to go ahead.

“Michael, I’m sure Flash has places to be,” Carla said, sitting down in a cushy chair as she positioned Mai to feed her. 

“It’s okay.” Barry couldn’t ignore the way Michael’s eyebrows had drawn together in disappointment. “I can play for a few minutes.”

There was something very surreal about playing with an action figure of himself, while his young companion played with a figure of Barry’s…well, nemesis no longer seemed adequate to sum up what they were to each other. Barry thought of Lisa—maybe boyfriends didn’t sound so bad.

Barry gave Michael twenty minutes of undivided attention, and even got to hold Mai for a bit after she’d been fed and was contentedly sleepy. She did have her brother’s big blue eyes. Then Barry said farewell—“Just for now, I promise”—and continued his mission to find Len.

He found Caitlin first.

“Hey!” he called, flashing forward to steady the box she’d been about to drop, far too large to attempt to carry with only one arm. She’d almost made it to the elevator balancing it against her hip, but lost it when she reached for the down button. 

“Just trying to be useful,” she said with pursed lips as Barry took the box and set it on the floor. “Something Cisco said he needed for what they’re working on downstairs. A broken arm is not enough to take me out of commission, thank you,” she added. 

Barry suddenly felt supremely nauseous for how she’d been taking care of him all morning—and last night—but no one was taking care of her. 

“Hey,” she said softly, coaxing him to look at her instead of the space between them, “I’m fine, Barry. Really. Almost went thirty years without breaking a bone; I was overdue.” 

Barry’s eyes felt hot with moisture. Here she was again, the girl who never smiled, offering a smile to him and trying to cheer him up when she was hurting too. 

He moved into Caitlin’s body rather than retreat into the dark, lonely places inside of him, and gently, careful of her arm in the cast, pulled her against him for a hug. “I’m so sorry he did this to you. And that he did it pretending he was me. It must have been so…scary. He made me watch all of it, and I…I heard you scream…”

“Barry.” She hugged him back with both arms as best she could. “I know it’s hard to think of it this way now, when it’s all still so close, but I hope you realize how much this proves that you are nothing like him, or like Thawne. Scudder tried to personify everything you were afraid of becoming, but you never fell to that yourself. You were angry. And sad. And you did things you regret. But you fought to be better, because…that’s just the way you are. Against all odds, you always do everything you can to help others. There aren’t many people like that.” 

She squeezed him just slightly tighter as she said, “I’m sorry that, for a moment, I believed Scudder was you. But we never believed you’d become that willingly. We thought he’d brainwashed you. We knew the real you would never act like that. And Snart, he…he didn’t doubt you for a moment. When the details didn’t add up, he knew it wasn’t you.”

Barry smiled against her shoulder before pulling away. “Wouldn’t be a worthy nemesis if he wasn’t clever,” he snorted, not trying to hide his sorrows, just striving to push past them. 

Caitlin laughed too as she let her arms drop. Then her eyes darted past Barry toward the hallway and she startled. She leaned toward Barry again with her eyes trained over his shoulder as she whispered, “Did you know you have a shadow?” 

“Huh?” Barry spun around, assuming it must be Michael having followed him, which definitely made it more jarring when he caught the outline of Mick Rory. Mick ducked back out of view at having been spotted, but Barry wasn’t fooled. 

“Hey! What’s with the tail?” he called to the pyro. 

Grudgingly, Mick stepped into the open again and continued toward them. Despite Barry being certain the man didn’t mean them any harm, he always projected a sense of menace, with his large stature and prominent scowl—that could be even scarier when accompanied by a grin. Being dressed nicely in a grey Henley and canvas jacket didn’t diminish that. 

“Wait,” Barry turned to stand parallel with Caitlin as Mick approached them, “were you actually following me? For how long? Why?”

“Don’t get all trigger happy, Flash, Doc,” Mick nodded to each of them and held up his hands, his heat gun nowhere in sight. “No ulterior motives. Snart’s just a damn idiot,” he grumbled. “Wanted space, he said, but didn’t like the idea of leavin’ you alone.”

Barry’s eyes widened. “He…” He’d asked Mick to follow Barry to make sure he was safe? Barry’s insecurities that Len had run off because he was having second thoughts about them lessened immediately. 

Mick didn’t wait for Barry to find his tongue. He bent to pick up the neglected box from the floor. “Ya gonna go down or what?” he said, and pushed the button for the elevator that Caitlin had never actually made it to. 

“Thank you, Mr. Rory,” Caitlin said sincerely. 

Mick acknowledged her with a grunt. 

The elevator pinged as it reached them, and they all stepped in. Barry stood as a buffer between Mick and Caitlin, not that he felt one was really needed. 

“Len’s lucky to have a friend like you,” he said. 

Mick grunted again, and they passed a few seconds in silence before he said, “Not apologizin’ for punching you.”

Barry smirked. “I deserved it.”

“Yep. Not givin’ the paintings back neither.” 

“You helped save my family, Mick. I think we can agree to forget about that.” 

Another brief silence passed, then Mick’s voice came across softer, hesitant. “Sorry I torched your face.” 

Barry glanced at him, but Mick’s eyes remained trained on the elevator door. “Thanks.” 

Mick shifted the box in his arms, and side-eyed Barry with an appraising once over. “Good thing you get pretty again real fast. Most of us ain’t so lucky,” he said, which even without gesturing to the side of his face and neck, brought Barry’s eyes to the scars that sometimes he forgot about. 

Barry opened his mouth to say something, but Caitlin’s voice carried over first. 

“Scars aren’t inherently unattractive, Mr. Rory. They can be…distinguishing.” 

Mick tilted his head around Barry to look at her, and there was a hint of that grin. “Glad ya think so, Doc.” 

Caitlin went rigid with a sudden flush of color like she hadn’t meant to say it like _that_. 

Barry fought a wider smile as they reached the bottom floor with another ding of the elevator, and Mick headed out first into the larger warehouse section of the Labs with impossibly high ceilings and plenty of room to build and test—and potentially blow things up. 

Barry had to gape as he stepped into the open space. Most of the group was down here now, and it amazed him how much they had accomplished since last night. Barry didn’t even want to ask where Cisco had gotten his hands on several dozen large mirrors—currently frosted over and harmless—or the metal pieces for the frames with hinges to collapse the structure later. They’d need the van to transport this thing when it was finished, and even then they’d barely be able to fit more than the driver in with it. 

Up on a platform, Cisco and Hartley mulled over a set of blueprints and a three-dimensional model of how the mini fun house was supposed to look once complete, but Barry’s eyes were drawn to the others scattered around the room. 

Shawna Baez was talking with Rob of all people. Barry had learned that she was making constant runs out of the Labs, the only one moving in and out, since she was nearly impossible for Scudder to track and someone needed to keep an eye on Len’s neighborhood. While Shawna and Rob talked, they set up additional tablets with USBs containing the mini Miasma program to bring to the neighborhood shops, so Scudder couldn’t target anyone Len knew. The shop keeps wouldn’t be told that The Flash was involved, just that the tablets were gifts from Captain Cold. 

When Caitlin joined the pair, Shawna proceeded to talk about what she’d been up to lately. She’d been going to night classes to work toward becoming a nurse. 

A nurse. Barry’s ears perked as he realized just who Len’s medical professional was. 

But where was Len? He wasn’t immediately visible, so Barry stepped away from the first group after sharing a smile and a nod with Shawna, and continued on. 

He spotted Iris talking with Lisa, helping Wally with some of the manual labor at Cisco and Hartley’s direction. They were counting the number of mirrors and frame pieces, and organizing them to better fit the model Cisco and Hartley had mocked up. The girls were both dressed far more casually than Barry usually saw them, with their hair tied back into ponytails. 

“If Leonard asks me not to then I won’t, but would it really be such a terrible thing for people to learn what really happened here?” Iris was saying—and making an effort not to call Len ‘Snart’, Barry realized. “It would definitely change the city’s perspective on the Rogues if they found out you helped The Flash take down a real villain.” 

They couldn’t see Barry around the semi-erected structure, so he slowed his pace as he neared them to continue eavesdropping. He backed up when Mick blew past him to help Singh lift the next large mirror piece to be slotted into place. Barry stared in amazement at his boss wearing jeans and a wife beater with sweat on his brow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the captain without a tie. He must have changed since Barry saw him that morning, and he wondered if Singh had even slept last night.

“Of course some CCPD support would help me sell the story to my editor,” Iris raised her voice as Mick and Singh drew closer, and the girls, along with Wally, held the frame pieces in place while Mick and Singh dropped in the mirror. 

“You’re about as subtle as your father when he wants something, Miss West,” Singh said with a huff. He wiped his brow once they’d successfully placed the mirror and nodded at Mick in gratitude. “But if we pull this off… Ya know, I joked to Snart before, but saving the city from a menace like Scudder, I might be able to pull some strings, get any current charges dropped. Fresh start might be a nice change of pace, hey, Rory?” He eyed Mick with a subtle challenge in his eyes. “Just don’t think that pays things forward for any future crimes.”

Mick smirked back at Singh, unimpressed. “You wanna make things easier on us for a while, pal, I ain’t complainin’.”

Singh shook his head, while Iris, Lisa, and Wally all shared a smile. Lisa was clearly already sold on turning a new leaf. She’d just needed the right nudge. Most people only needed a nudge, one way or another, to change the direction of their lives. 

“Hey, Barr,” Iris stood in front of Barry suddenly, making him realize how much he'd migrated out of hiding while watching everyone. Iris smelled like epoxy and the tang of metal when she came up to him and hugged him tightly. 

“You guys are amazing,” Barry said. 

“Banding together for a singular cause has a remarkable effect on people.” She smiled warmly when she pulled away from him. “Should make for a great article. Once we win,” she added, fully confident that they would—because they had to. There wasn’t room for another scenario. 

Now that Barry was out in the open, he scanned the room more carefully. Joe was off in the corner on his cell phone, probably dealing with damage control with so many people ‘missing’ at STAR Labs. But there was still no sign of Len. 

“I was already upstairs. Saw Carla and Michael and the baby. Where’s Len?” he turned back to Iris. 

“Through there, my man,” Cisco appeared from behind Barry with Hartley at his side—and wow, would Barry never get used to seeing them working together like they were attached at the hip. Cisco pointed across the room at a set of double doors that led into a smaller testing area. 

“Went off to try out the new enhancements on his gun,” Hartley said. “Wanted to make sure it didn’t handle any differently when he used the normal settings.” 

“Thanks,” Barry said, then slowly rotated in place. “Should I be…doing something? Do you need any help?”

“We will,” Cisco nodded, “when we’re ready to move this thing, but it’s sort of trial and error right now to get the spatial relations right. Otherwise, we’d just have you flash through everything. We’ll have it done today and put you to work getting it ready for transport.”

“If we can work out the rest of this plan, we might even be able to go after Scudder tomorrow,” Hartley concluded. 

Tomorrow. Barry shivered at the thought of facing the meta again so soon, but a tingle of excitement that they were finally close to putting all of this behind them beat out any nerves. 

Barry was honestly amazed watching these two teams work together. When this was over, he doubted he’d be able to pass a mirror without flinching for a long time, but as shaky and scared as he was at times, he truly believed they could do this, because none of them were in it alone. 

The carefully controlled chaos continued on without Barry as he moved toward the double doors Cisco had indicated. It was silly, but he felt more nervous nearing Len than he had at the thought of fighting Scudder again. 

The familiar whir and blasts of the cold gun greeted Barry as soon as he entered the smaller room. Various targets, mostly cardboard cutouts of generic bad guys that Cisco had whipped up for Barry’s training sessions, had been set up on one side of the room, while Len stood mismatched in his jeans and shirt from earlier, but with his gloves on and his parka drawn over his shoulders. The image summed up everything paradoxical about the group in the other room. 

Barry watched Len for a while near the door. Just the sight of him was soothing, like a balm over Barry’s frazzled nerves. All of Len’s old cuts and bruises were healed now, though Barry imagined there might be more he couldn’t see since the parka covered him. He knew Len knew he was there. He was too obviously in the thief’s periphery, and Len was always keenly aware of his surroundings. 

Len would dart quickly a few feet to the left or right, then fire his cold gun at a target after only a moment to center himself and aim. Most of the time he’d hit the target dead center, but a few shots caught only the edges, or were lower or higher than Barry thought Len intended. When he finally paused to take a break, he was only mildly out of breath, but a frown marred his features. 

He spoke without facing Barry. “Still waiting for the new goggles to try out the Miasma Field, but the weight feels off now with a normal shot. Affects my aim. I’ll see what Hartley can do.” 

Barry walked toward Len, but still the Rogue wouldn’t look at him. “Are you really that mad at me for wanting to fight Scudder?” Barry asked. 

Len sighed as he set the cold gun on a table next to the heat gun. “I’m not mad, Barry. Only anger I got right now is for Scudder.” 

“Then please,” Barry appealed to him, coming up behind Len as close as he dared while wanting so badly to reach out to him, “don’t close yourself off from me. You don’t need to send Mick to watch me like a guard dog. I’d rather have you.” 

Tension rippled through Len’s shoulders, visible even through the parka. Slowly, he turned around to face Barry, and there was that emotion again, so much rawness that Len didn’t normally let the outside world see. 

“Len,” Barry did reach for him now, needed to touch him, and wished the gloves weren’t between the connections of their skin, “if you’re scared, you can tell me—”

“Of course I’m scared,” Len bit out, though he didn’t pull away. “We don’t know enough about Scudder. There’s too much that could go wrong. I never put plans into motion this quickly without knowing exactly what I’m in for. But we don’t have time for that.” His eyes cast down at the floor then clenched tightly closed as he said, “If he gets his hands on you again…” 

Barry wanted to tug Len toward him with a burst of speed and strength, but instead he completed the action at a crawl, so Len was prepared for every movement. He pulled Len in, lifted his other arm to wind around Len’s neck, and held him with their hands clasped and trapped between their bodies. Barry knew full well what a privilege it was to hold Leonard Snart like this and have the man relax against him. 

Len freed his hand from Barry’s grip, but only so he could slide his arms around Barry’s waist. “Only you, kid, could make the impossible feel easy.”

“What’s impossible?” Barry said with a smile mouthing along Len’s neck, and the fur of the parka teasing his cheek. “Because loving you was so easy, it ambushed me. Pretty typical coming from a thief.” 

Len huffed, muffled against Barry’s skin. When he pulled back, a smile touched his lips that was also sad, haunted like Barry had been echoing too much lately. The smile fell away at a slow pace, like blood draining from Len’s face. “I’m going to make him pay for what he did to you."

“No,” Barry shook his head. “I don’t want that. Len, you have to promise me, no matter what happens, unless it’s life or death, you won’t kill Scudder.” 

At this Len’s face fell to something cold and unreadable. He released Barry’s waist and pulled away completely. “Reality isn’t always painted in heroics. Sometimes people get what they have coming to them.” 

_Like Lewis_ , Barry supplied, and part of him couldn’t argue with that, but other parts, so many other parts, still wished Len hadn’t killed him. “I don’t want to be like Wells. I don’t want you to be like him either.” 

“Barry…”

“If there’s no other way,” Barry followed after Len when he tried to back up further, “then there’s no other way. But if I’m supposed to be the hero, then I have to figure out a plan C even when one doesn’t seem possible. Otherwise I’m no better than Reverse Flash. No better than anyone who takes the easy way out.” 

“No better than me, you mean,” Len said, not with a sneer or show of anger, but with an almost blank expression that overtook his face with a humorless smile.

“You’re not like that,” Barry said without flinching.

“But I am.” 

“You’re _not_. If you keep trying to tell me that I’m better than I think I am, then you have to believe the same is true for you. Scudder is going to pay, but it’s going to be in the meta wing at Iron Heights.” 

The sparkle in Len’s blue eyes dimmed, looking shadowed as Barry met his stare. Len nodded once, but he pushed past Barry after holding his gaze, and headed for the door. 

“Unless it’s life or death,” he said, and didn’t wait for Barry to follow him before he left the room. 

XXXXX

Sam reared back a fist to punch the blank mirror before him, but held himself back. Anger was pointless. Team Flash and Cold’s Rogues were holed up in STAR Labs with no way inside the reflections; he couldn’t change that now. 

A few days ago, Sam had simply walked inside, invisible with the suit’s help—unaffected by that damn reflection killer while the suit was on—and turned the program off just in time to take Flash’s form and fool his friends. Now he’d lost the mask, and didn’t have time to reverse engineer another one from the rest of the suit. He needed a different plan while they were no doubt working on one of their own. 

Sam watched their homes, their places of work, their neighborhoods, but nothing caught on his radar, and soon even Cold’s favorite shops were blocked from him seeing through their reflections. He needed a way to lure The Flash out before they tried to lure him. 

Then Sam thought back to the day he’d taken The Flash, and he remembered something that he was almost certain the speedster had forgotten. 

Oh, Sam had something he could use as bait, and then he’d bury The Flash and Captain Cold for good. They were going to suffer, Flash in particular, just as Sam had promised. 

XXXXX

The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind for Len, like everything that involved Barry Allen. 

If they weren’t helping each other with simply living together in open but still cramped quarters for so many people, or working on the plan against Scudder, someone was always buzzing around making sure that everyone rested and ate and took care of themselves—usually Caitlin, until Iris finally stood in front of the good doctor and demanded that she take her own advice. 

When the end of the day drew near, there didn’t seem to have been enough time—there never was. All Len could think about, pushing aside the numbing fear of their yet incomplete plan against Scudder, was Barry, and how much he wanted to be able to face the kid again without the shadow of impending doom. 

He’d avoided Barry the rest of the day, but that wasn’t what he wanted, it was just his way when he didn’t know how to express things by…saying them. And he was such a hypocrite for it, because he kept telling Barry that he could always talk to him, yet there he was, keeping quiet like a coward. Len knew what he wanted, but all this—the teams working together, the miracle of it—made him all the more terrified of what he might lose. 

And that made him hate Scudder down to his bones. 

Len felt unraveled, as if having Barry and losing him, then almost having him again only to lose him to Scudder, and then finally, _finally_ having him _again_ only to keep Barry at a distance—it was like a cord pulled taut over and over until it snapped. 

He stood now before the door to his claimed room, hand on the knob but unable to enter. He’d finished his nightly routine in the bathroom, thankfully alone since it was late, but now his body slowed and stilled as if he was stuck.

“Maybe the problem,” Lisa’s voice broke into his reverie, and he flinched as he looked up to see her standing only a few feet away from him, “is that’s the wrong room.” She nodded once at his door before disappearing through her own—at least he thought it was hers, but he had his suspicions. 

Len turned back to stare at his door. It was his, but Lisa didn’t mean he was about to accidently enter someone else’s room. 

He no longer had excuses about trying his new goggles, or testing the Miasma Field, or helping get the trap ready for transport tomorrow—if they actually did this tomorrow, when Len still felt like it was a fool’s errand without knowing Scudder’s true power. But he knew now that he wouldn’t be able to sleep without Barry. 

There were countless rooms in STAR Labs that had been temporarily retrofitted as lodgings, thanks to whatever they could scavenge from around the Labs, and what Shawna had brought in. As Len turned from his room to walk the hallways, he saw that most of the others were asleep, or getting there—he was fairly certain that the murmurs he heard from one room was Hartley on his cell phone checking in with Arty, and the captain’s husband Rob offered Len a pleasant goodnight as he passed by. The whole affair carried a sense of family beneath the abject fear of the boogey man that Scudder had become. 

Len stepped up to Barry’s door at the end of the hall and knocked twice, but he didn’t wait for an answer before he entered. 

“Hey. Thought maybe…you wouldn’t want to sleep alone,” Len said, and closed the door behind him. 

Barry’s face lit up when he saw Len. He was awake. Of course he was. He sat against the wall on top of one of the few actual mattresses in the Labs, placed on the floor with a mess of sheets and a large down comforter atop it. He looked so young in just his underwear and a T-shirt. 

“Hey. Yeah…I really don’t,” he said, and dropped his legs from being pulled into his chest to spread out on top of the covers. 

Len had traded his jeans for sleep pants—not The Flash ones, though he’d been tempted—but otherwise remained in his long-sleeved T-shirt. He’d padded there in socks, a surreal enough experience, and climbed now onto the makeshift bed in what appeared to be a supply closet, looking claustrophobic with all the shelving squished together against the walls to give the bed room. 

The touch of Barry’s hand was like an electric shock—so much better than when Len was wearing gloves. He let Barry pull him down and sat beside him, leaning against the wall, hip to hip. Their hands stayed coiled together, fingers laced, resting atop their thighs between them. It felt like an exhale they hadn’t earned. Oh they’d earned it, but that deep breath in between wasn’t yet finished, not until they took care of Scudder. 

“Not trying to be distant, Scarlet,” Len said after a few quiet moments, staring at their intertwined fingers. “When you showed up at the last second to save my life, my only thought was on never letting you go. But life doesn’t work that way. We haven’t had time to…to think. To breathe.” 

“I know. There are too many unknowns, and it sucks. But that’s why I’m glad you’re here.” Barry rested his head against Len’s shoulder, and Len couldn’t resist dropping his head down too, feeling the brush of Barry’s hair against his skin. 

“We haven’t answered any of the hard questions. Singh’s talking pardons, and West isn’t glaring as much as I expected, but what comes next? For _this_ , I mean.” Len lifted their connected hands.

“Tomorrow,” Barry said, as though the answer were simple. “And the next day. And the next. Here.” He untangled from Len and reached over the edge of the bed, returning with a tablet. Their hips still touched as he leaned into Len's side. “This is what Cisco made me. It has a normal calendar with birthdays and appointments coming up,” he said, showing Len each item in the application as he mentioned it, “but the default view only looks at today, because thinking too big, too much at once, that’s when life starts to feel suffocating.” 

A lump formed in Len’s throat as Barry tapped an icon marked ‘Today’s Heroics’, and it pulled up a simple list with the day’s date at the top. 

“Just today is easier. Then tomorrow when it gets here. Today, I…ate all my meals and snacks,” Barry said as he tapped a check box beside the item and progressed downward. “When asked how I was, I told the truth—sometimes okay, sometimes not. When people wanted to talk to me, I stopped and listened. When I wanted to be angry, I let myself be angry, but then I took a breath to calm down before deciding what to do next. When I felt like it was all too much and I couldn’t…” his voice caught with a touch of distress and dampness, but he paused, took a breath like he'd said. “I got up...and did laps around the pipeline,” he chuckled. “Then I ate another snack to regain the calories. All in all, a good day. See?” 

He reached the end of the list, everything in it checked off or marked with additional notes in the margins, like a real journal, and when he pressed enter at the bottom, the screen changed. It looked like Tetris for a moment, but Barry didn’t control the pieces that dropped and began to build on one another to form a tower. When the pieces had all fallen, different colored blocks that fit like a puzzle, a tiny 8-bit Flash appeared onscreen and jumped up and down at the top, with a pixilated lightning bolt flashing overhead that caused the entire screen to flicker. 

Len laughed, and Barry giggled with him, nuzzling into Len’s shoulder. 

“Great, right?” Barry said. “If I miss a check box, I have to navigate the Tetris pieces like the real game. So even on a bad day, there’s still a way to make up for it, ya know?” Because failure came with its own setbacks, but this had a way to make things better, however small, even after a misstep. “Just means I have to work harder.”

“How did Cisco come up with this in days?” Len asked. 

“Genius, remember? Plus I think he’d been working on it for more than a few days, he just had it ready finally. Though I totally went into the code and added the lightning,” he said proudly.

Len looked at Barry snuggled against his side and had to marvel at him, because even the things Barry thought mundane about himself were extraordinary, yet he never seemed to understand that. 

“Maybe Cisco can create a little 8-bit Captain Cold to come give me a kiss on a good day,” Barry mused.

“Mmm. Or the real thing could do that,” Len said. He waited for Barry to look at him before he reached over to grasp the kid’s chin and tilted it upward for a kiss. 

Len only realized that this was their first kiss since that awful, bitter goodbye in his apartment a week ago after their lips met. 

There was that lightning again, like a shock straight to Len’s heart. And again, when Barry’s mouth parted, teasing with the gentle tip of his tongue. Len opened his mouth only too willingly in reply and shivered as they connected. Damn, this kid. Damn him and bless him and never let him leave Len’s side. 

“I told you once…that I'd never hurt you again,” Barry whispered when they parted. “I failed. But I'm trying to be better. So this time it’s going to be true.” Hazel eyes blinked up at Len. “I will never hurt you again.”

Len felt burned by Barry’s closeness, his honesty. This was what he’d been avoiding, the inevitable wave of too many emotions that made him feel weak just by being near Barry. He wasn’t used to enjoying his own vulnerability, but there was no doubt in his mind now that this was where he wanted to be, damn the consequences, even if it left him open like a raw nerve. 

“You're not like Wells, Barry. You’re not like Scudder. You are not like my father.” 

“Neither are you,” Barry said earnestly, and shifted toward Len, closer, causing the tablet to drop from his lap between them. 

“I'm sorry,” Len said. “For everything. You keep apologizing, but I haven’t said it enough back.” 

“You don't have to apologize for defending yourself.” 

Len frowned. “I wasn't—”

“You thought you were,” Barry said, and smiled, because…they’d had this conversation before, the other way around. 

Try as he might, Len never seemed to be able to beat this kid. “You had every reason to believe I was worth manipulating.”

“And you had every reason to believe I wasn't worth forgiving.” 

“I was wrong,” Len insisted. 

“So was I,” Barry smiled warmly. He was so warm, in all the right ways. 

Len hadn’t released Barry’s chin yet. They were practically wrapped around each other, turned in toward each other on the bed; Barry’s hand at Len’s hip; Len’s hand on Barry’s face. “I love you,” Len said, because he needed to say it, without his doubts and insecurities holding him back.

Barry’s smile brightened but then flickered as if it might fall. “And not only because I made you?”

“Made me? You didn’t make me do anything,” Len balked at the thought. “I fell in love with the moments I was with the real you. With the things you couldn’t fake. And nothing’s going to change that. Least of all Scudder.” He bent down to place another kiss to Barry’s lips, slower and gentler than the first. 

Barry shuddered against him. “I love you too,” he said, soft and meaningful and all Len had wanted to hear. 

They kissed again, half propped up by the wall behind them, and curled in closer. Their mouths opened to seek that deeper connection once more, and it was hesitant but desperate for everything they both wanted. 

Their hips aligned, and Len felt the twitch and growing hardness of Barry through his underwear. He trembled as it connected with his own length through the fabric of his sleep pants, and the clash of heat made him growl deep in his throat. He tugged Barry closer still, kissed him deeper. Then gasped away as the persistent voices at the back of his mind reminded him of everything they’d gone through and everything yet to come. 

“Barry,” Len tried to pull back as Barry clutched at him, “we don’t have to—” 

“I want to,” Barry whined, grinding into Len while he continued to seek out his lips. “Please. If…if _you_ want to…” He blinked at Len with uncertainty, betraying his fear that he was pushing for something Len didn’t want, but the flutter of those long lashes against flushing cheeks only made Len more frantic to reconnect. 

“I want to,” Len promised in a low rumble, and as soon as their eyes met with what Len would swear was an actual flicker of yellow lightning, he pulled Barry to him.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, KillerWave? It just sort of happened!
> 
> Sex next! Plus an epiphany for one of them on how to defeat Scudder, and the reveal of Scudder's bait. 
> 
> Any guesses?


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len and Barry get reacquainted and finally have an epiphany on how to take Scudder down for good - if only luck was in their favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be amazed at your response to this fic. Thank you all for your comments, they mean more than I can ever say.
> 
> I have decided that I for sure will be turning this fic into my next original book project once it is complete, and that's so much because of you, the readers and how you've helped shape this monster. I'd love to share my ideas for how I plan to change things to make the story more fully my own, not as obviously Flash fanfiction, and have already started to work out things with outside input, so let me know if you'd like me to run that by all of you as well. :-)
> 
> And now onto what you've all been so patient waiting for... :-)

The slide of Barry’s tongue against his own, accompanied by the slide of their bodies as they shifted closer and twined their arms around each other tighter, felt like everything Len had been missing. 

This was what he’d wanted a week ago, when he’d bared his soul to Barry, risking everything by telling the kid he loved him. He did love him, however improbable and foolish. They slotted together like two opposing puzzle pieces that somehow made sense—differently shaped and colored, but able to complete a full picture when they were together, filling in each other’s empty spaces. 

Len shivered at Barry’s touch, and shifted his hips to better meet the press of heat against his thigh. Then he cringed as the hard edge of something very much _not_ Barry dug into his hip. 

“Hang on…” Len pulled away, breathless but grinning, so Barry would know he wasn’t having second thoughts. He reached between them as Barry panted, eyes already heavy lidded, and pulled up the tablet that had fallen from Barry’s lap. 

“Oops,” Barry chuckled. “Sorry.” He took the tablet and twisted around to set it off the bed. When he returned, he tugged at the bunched comforter to get the ends out from under Len, and tossed it back so they could settle on the sheets instead. 

The coolness of the unsullied sheets felt invigorating beneath Len’s skin—beneath his hands and the tease of midsection revealed from their tumbling. He laid back as Barry crawled on top of him, long legs straddling his hips and warm hands pushing beneath his hitched up shirt. It all felt so different without the tug of nausea that maybe Barry didn’t want more, without the fear of rejection looming. Other perils lurked in the darkness, but what existed between them, what they wanted and how much they’d missed each other, finally matched up. 

The stitches in Len’s arm from Dunkirk’s attack had almost dissolved, leaving a dulled but still raised slash across his bicep. Barry grazed his fingers over it gingerly after removing Len of his shirt. He teased the faint, remaining cuts and bruises coloring Len’s chest, as well as the familiar scars, but he paused when he reached Len’s neck and found the fresher bruises from Scudder’s hands. 

They wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. They’d barely been visible above the collar of Len’s shirt. But Barry paused and laid his fingers over them with a creased brow. 

“It wasn’t you,” Len said, placing his hands over Barry’s wrists.

“I know,” Barry said, even though his eyes stayed on the wounds.

“It wasn’t your fault either.”

“I _know_. Can I help it if I want to protect the people I love?” he quirked his mouth into a sad smile.

Len smiled back at him, “Apparently not,” and reached for Barry to pull him down into a kiss. Deep. And slow. The touch of Barry’s tongue was made all the sweeter with the addition of their hips locked and moving in an unhurried rhythm, while Barry’s fingers feathered down Len’s sides.

“Neither can you,” he whispered against Len’s lips. “Maybe we’re not so different.” 

“Mmm…maybe,” Len admitted, and even though he wasn’t sure he believed that as much as Barry believe in him, the bright smile Barry granted him made it worthwhile to say it. 

Again those addictive lips claimed his, and Len rocked up into the insistent straddle of Barry’s hips. Len was so hard already—and hot, and ravenous.

“I wanna make you feel good, Len,” Barry rasped amidst the never ceasing roll of his hips. His hands dropped to the waistband of Len’s sleep pants. 

The tease of his fingers was such a welcome replacement to being at odds, and it would be so easy to give in and simply leave Barry to it, but Len had a better idea. “You always make me feel good. Thought you wanted a reward from Captain Cold?” He gripped Barry’s thighs and slowed the swirl of their hips to a maddening grind.

Barry trembled atop him—no, _vibrated_. Fuck. “I said…I wanted a kiss.” 

“Yeah…? What if I _kiss_ you somewhere else?” 

Len hooked one arm around Barry’s waist and rolled them to the side. Barry giggled, almost yelped, as Len laid him out on the mattress and switched their positions. He pushed Barry’s T-shirt up his chest and bent to kiss the center of his breastbone then began a slow progression down the dip of his stomach. Barry writhed beneath his touch. 

When Len’s lips reached the line of Barry’s underwear, he lifted the waistband and peeled it downward to continue his kisses lower. Barry’s breathing increased, and Len felt dizzy with the sounds and feel of the kid.

“Made you a promise, remember?”

Barry hummed distractedly as the underwear tugged down low enough to release him to the open air. 

“Said next time…I’d use my _tongue_.” 

Len descended, tongue lapping at Barry’s head and twirling languidly at the budding precum, before he bobbed down fully and took Barry into his mouth. The moan that left Barry was like an exclamation of _finally_ , and he pounded a fist into the mattress. 

Len bobbed again, _again_ , gripping Barry at the base of his cock in the aftermath of each swipe, starting a symbiotic rhythm with his mouth and hand. But after a few fervent seconds of this, he slowed, and slowed, and finally pulled away.

“But I didn’t mean my tongue _here_ …” He licked his moistened lips with a leering grin, glancing up the length of Barry’s body, and shifted lower.

Barry’s cheeks were flush with color, pupils blown as he looked down at Len with a heave of his chest and craving in his eyes. Len dragged Barry’s underwear the rest of the way off, then hooked both arms beneath Barry’s knees and rocked him back to bend him in half—like he’d wanted him when all of this started, but this was so much better. 

Len licked down beneath Barry’s cock, lower and lower still. Just as he reached the tender spot between velvety and puckered skin, Barry’s entire body shivered with fresh vibrations. 

“Yo, Barry!” A knock sounded at the door. “Still awake?”

“Don’t come in!” Barry yelled, as Len’s eyes snapped wide at Cisco’s voice.

“What? Why?”

“I will shave your head if you open that door, Cisco, I swear to god!”

“ _Dude_ ,” Cisco called back, offended. “What’s the deal? I just wanted to make sure you were…” Then he trailed, paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had fallen to an anxious whisper. “Is Snart in there with you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Len growled back. 

“Oh! Sorry!” he called a little more loudly. “Have a good night!”

Barry groaned into his laughter, and Len couldn’t help the sputter of amusement that left him too, which he rumbled into a kiss against Barry’s thigh. They’d had enough interruptions. Too many. But never again. 

“I’m icing his underwear in the morning,” Len said succinctly.

Barry snorted. “As long as he’s not wearing them at the time. But if he asks, I was against the idea.” 

“Traitor.”

“Wouldn’t you call that ‘being prudent’?” Barry teased. 

Len cocked his head. “Hmm, no time for discreet behavior at the moment,” he said, and hoisted Barry’s hips up higher with a lick of his lips. “I promised you a kiss.” 

And oh the noise Barry made when Len ducked his head and slipped his tongue inside with a smooth lick. If Cisco was dawdling outside the door, he definitely heard that. 

Barry was already so open, so pliant, like all the tension finally able to ease out of his body had left him more relaxed than he’d been in weeks. It made it only too easy for Len to kiss his way deep inside until his tongue couldn’t delve any further. Barry vibrated around him—sensitive tonight and easily set to shivers—so Len twirled his tongue in an unhurried circle. 

“ _Len_ …” Barry mewled. 

Len teased his tongue along the tender skin around Barry’s entrance when he pulled away. “Lots to make up for, Scarlet. Let’s see how much noise I can wring out of you.” He ran his hands up the back of Barry’s thighs as he slipped inside again, slower this time, licking with short, jutting probes of his tongue that pushed in deeper each time. 

One hand trailed the tips of its fingers around Barry’s thigh to seek out his length, wet from Len’s mouth and dribbling precum that he caught with his palm to smooth his strokes. Needy pants and moans poured from Barry’s lips at the blend of sensations. Len had no idea how thin the walls were between rooms, but since Barry was at the end of the hall, the only room next to them was Mick’s. He could listen all he wanted. 

“You got any snacks in here?” Len blew cool air on Barry’s skin when he paused for breath.

“Wha…? Yes. Why?” 

“You’re gonna need the calories after I’m through with you.” 

Barry groaned at the increase in pressure and speed of the in-tune pumps of Len’s hand and renewed thrusts of his tongue. “Len…I’m…I’m gonna…ugnnn…”

“Give in, Barry. Come for me. You can have two tonight, kid, I know you can.” He licked Barry intimately and increased the speed of his hand. “Just tell me, want my tongue when you finish...or my mouth?”

“Ngnn…” Barry took a moment to process what Len meant by that. “Mouth. I want your mouth on me, _please_.”

 _Done_ , Len complied, licking his way back up Barry’s length, and bobbing down to take him in fully just as the hand that had been stroking Barry drifted its damp fingers down to where his mouth had been. Barry was wet and open where Len had fucked him with his tongue—a single finger slid in without resistance. 

Barry groaned louder, and as Len took him in deep along with his finger twisting, Barry’s hips stuttered upward with another shudder of vibrations.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he huffed as he came, and went limp in the aftermath, shivering as Len pulled off with a loving swirl of his tongue. 

“I’d certainly like to get there…” Len said, devouring the sight of a debauched Barry Allen as much as he’d devoured him with his mouth. Len glanced around the supply closet with a frown while Barry caught his breath. “Speaking of…you don’t happen to have—”

“Wallet,” Barry waved a dismissive hand. Hazel eyes fluttered hazily down at Len. “In my wallet.” 

Len raised an eyebrow. Untangling himself from the coiling cage of Barry’s legs, he crawled to the side of the bed where the speedster’s discarded day clothes had been tossed—rather haphazardly and not folded. Len snatched up the jeans, discovering Barry’s wallet and a jingle of keys or maybe change in the pile of denim. And, as implied, inside the wallet was a condom and a travel sized packet of lube. 

Len had to smirk at Barry when he returned with the acquired items. 

“What?” Barry bit his lip, spreading his legs to allow Len to settle back in between them, while running a hand up his abs with his T-shirt still hitched, _the little shit_. “I wasn’t a Boy Scout, but being the son of a cop kind of instills the same principles.” 

“’Always be prepared’ means lube in your wallet?” Len kissed the inside of Barry’s thigh—quickly becoming one of his favorite spots.

“Worked in my favor tonight,” Barry snickered.

Oh yes, this was more like it, more like their beginning, without the secrets and lies that had torn them apart. “Lube is one thing, Barry, but you know it’s not smart to keep condoms in your wallet?” Len tore the corner of the packets on both for easier access later, and set them aside. 

“I know. I put it in there today.”

“You—” Len looked at Barry, amused and amazed all at once. 

“I wanted to feel close to you again,” he shrugged, almost bashful, when a moment ago he’d been playing the part of coy tease. “But I didn’t want to push you.”

 _This kid_. “So where’s the stash of lube and condoms at STAR Labs?”

“My locker. I keep extra clothes in there, and other…essentials.”

“Uh huh.” 

“You complaining?” Barry locked Len in place with the vice of his knees.

“Never.”

“Good.” 

Len blinked and he was on his back, staring at the ceiling and Barry’s grinning face above him. The kid sat back to give him space, straddling his hips once more with his naked lower half pressing into Len, but he allowed him time to adjust before he touched him directly. Barry was always learning, always careful, always—

Slowly, Barry lifted his T-shirt over his head and tossed it behind him. “Your turn,” he said, lying forward on top of Len, his still hard cock sandwiched between their bellies as he brought the middle and pointer fingers of his right hand to Len’s lips. 

—insufferably sexy.

“I want you to fuck me,” Barry said—and damn would it never get old hearing him say that, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some other fun first.” 

The pads of Barry’s fingers brushed Len’s lips, and he parted them to let the kid slip inside, reminding him of the first time they were together and how much Barry had wrecked him. Len twirled his tongue along the slender digits, getting them wet and sucking lewdly, while Barry kissed his cheek, and down his jaw and neck to his ear. Barry licked the lobe and up around the rim, making Len shiver. The drag of Barry’s cock against his stomach was sinful. 

When Barry pulled his sopping fingers free, he vibrated them against Len’s lips then started a familiar trail downward. Kid was a damn good multi-tasker: teased Len’s ear with his tongue, rocked his hips steadily to keep the friction between them going, and drew those buzzing fingers down to Len’s nipples, past his stomach, into his sleep pants…

“ _Barry_.”

The vibrations didn’t cease as Barry teased with just the tips of his fingers all the way along Len’s hardening length, then lower, _lower_ , as Barry shifted down and took Len’s sleep pants with him. Len hitched his naked hips up once he was bare, zealously egging Barry on, because once he realized what the kid was planning, _yes, definitely that_. 

Still Barry teased, tracing Len’s entrance but never breeching it. A gentle rub and light circling with both fingers, then he’d move a little further up, a little further down, always away right when Len was ready to rock his hips up with insistence and demand that Barry just—

“ _Please_.”

“Please…what?” Barry asked with a smile in his voice, breath warm against the wet trail his fingers had left on Len’s stomach. 

Despite everything they’d been through, despite how easily they might have never gotten back to a place where they could give and take and trust, Barry fell to his impish, playful ways like they’d never stumbled. 

Len dragged his fingers through Barry’s soft fop of hair and tugged at the strands until Barry’s eyes rolled back in his head. Playing fair wasn’t in the cards for them; they met each other beat for beat whether at odds or just like this, connected by skin. 

“Want you to slide those pretty fingers in me…and make me moan before I fuck you.”

Barry moaned just to hear Len’s words. “Your _voice_. You need to say things like that more often, like…all the time often. I don’t think I could refuse you anything talking like that.”

“Mmmm," Len growled, dragging his fingers over Barry’s scalp again, “fine by me, Scarlet. Long as you always want what I offer, I can order you around plenty. But you better do the same. Love when you take charge.” He really did, when Barry was still the sweet, conscientious hero he’d fallen for, just with a thrill of dominance in his gaze. 

Barry had only frightened him once, not meaning to, not understanding, and he’d made up for that every time since. No one had ever accomplished what Barry had and left Len feeling safe, and worth something...and loved. 

Damn, the way those green eyes glistened, shy and boyish in seconds after being commanding. “You do?” Barry said. 

Len was a goner ages ago, but there was no going back now. He nodded as he rocked his hips to feel the slide of Barry’s dampened fingers. 

Barry’s tongue swiped at his lips, the impishness returning as quickly as the speedster did anything. “Say it again…what you want.” He skimmed Len’s entrance with feather-light swirls. 

Len shuddered and looked Barry right in the eyes. “Fuck me with your fingers, Barry.” 

“Like this…?” Barry slipped just one of the wet digits past Len’s muscle, slow, but moving steadily in, then out a fraction, then deeper, and _out_...

“ _More_ ,” Len pleaded. 

“Tell me,” Barry purred. “Tell me what you want.” 

_Damn it_. Barry was the one with the voice that begged to be used for sin. Len did love giving his speeches, but that usually didn’t involve saying things like _this_. 

He licked his lips, spread his legs wider, and tightened his hold on Barry’s hair. “Both fingers. Stretch me open, kid, like…like you’re the one who’ll be fucking me. Make me beg for it,” Barry obeyed with the tip of the second finger, and Len’s head dropped back with an arch of his neck, “…before I hoist you up here and bury myself inside you.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Barry groaned as if Len was the one touching him. His fingers were still vibrating, still miraculous and singular to Barry, as they pressed inside of Len and scissored open, making him keen out desperate, plaintive noises that he’d never before let anyone hear. 

Len was pulsing and wanting and wet, as Barry descended to give him some parallel payback—only his mouth was vibrating too. “ _Wait_ …” Len tugged on the soft strands of hair, until Barry pulled off. 

“Begging already?” Barry grinned.

 _Forever a little shit_ , Len decided—and he loved every minute of it. “Get up here and ride my dick, Flash…then we’ll see who’s begging by the end.” He spoke in full Captain Cold voice, smirk in place at the edge of his lips. 

Barry vibrated over his entire body, and both of them moaned. Their brand of being at odds had its perks—when things were like this. Maybe they really could keep it going for days and weeks and months to come. For longer. 

Barry stilled the vibrations of his fingers and pulled away, snickering with a gleeful expression as he reached for the condom and lube. He rolled the condom down Len’s length, coated it as liberally as the small amount in the packet allowed, then shifted his hips up Len’s waist. 

“Wait,” Len said again, and Barry froze with questioning in his eyes. Len pulled him closer, kissed him on the lips, soft and slow, and smoothed one hand down his back, then along his backside, urging Barry higher, closer. “You sure you’re as open for me as I am for you? Better check.”

Barry moaned deep in his throat when Len reached his waiting entrance, adding a swirl of lube from his cock before he dipped his fingers inside. His tongue had opened Barry fine, but not enough, not quite, so Len slid two fingers in deep like Barry had done to him, careful and slick, while he kissed Barry’s chest above him. 

Barry rocked forward and back with the thrust of Len working him open, breath short and eyes almost black. Barry looked at him with equal parts possession and devotion. He kissed Len, dislodging his fingers with the shift in angle, but as Len clung to Barry’s hips, the kid’s long limbs and lithe body moved just where it needed to be to sit slowly _back_. 

“ _F-Fuck_.”

“ _Len_.”

The slickness of both of them met and opened up to connect, as slow as they’d ever been with each other. Barry vibrated as he took Len in, at first Len thought because he couldn’t help himself, but there was concentration across Barry’s brow, and he wondered if the buzz of power made it easier for Barry to stretch open. 

Barry sighed with a blissed out smile once he was seated, more easily taking Len in than the first time, and that said something, didn’t it, that Barry was so much more at ease with Len? All either of them wanted was for this to be good for the other, and that made it so much better, so much sweeter, to link their hands and mouths and bodies. 

Len wasn’t wrong about Barry begging, as murmurs of lightning fast gibberish breathed hot against the side of his face. Len soothed Barry with tender touches at his back and sides, through his hair, and a thumb gently brushing his lips before they kissed again. 

Then Barry rose up, seated atop Len, and rocked wantonly. Len walked his fingers up Barry’s abs and down again to curl around his cock. Barry arched back, reveling in Len’s touch with a pleased hum. While he rode Len, he reached behind him and surprised Len by sliding in slick, once-again vibrating fingers. Now it was Len’s turn to sputter out fever-induced praises. 

Their voices overlapped.

“ _Harder_ …”

“ _Fuck_ , Len…”

“Your fingers, _shit_ …”

“You feel so _good_ …”

“ _Faster_ , kid…”

“Wanna vibrate _all over_ …”

They kissed again like a chain reaction, and while the connection made Barry’s fingers slip free, it also pulled Len in deeper. They rocked and _rocked_ as their mouths met, sweat building along their skin. Their pace picked up faster, _faster_ , with Barry buzzing and sparking with lightning, until Len had to break away with a whine as he came. The sight of Barry’s eyes above him—yellow and so beautiful—made him cling to the kid tighter if only to have him close for just a little longer. 

Len reached between them, gripped Barry once more, and pumped the kid to completion while still twitching contentedly inside of him. Their foreheads pressed together, further words of approval and affection falling from Barry’s lips before he shuddered atop Len with a final spark and surge of power. 

For a moment, Len felt like he’d received a shock from an electrical outlet—not painful, just as if energy were coursing through his veins, his heart hammering, leaving him feeling happier than he would ever believe he deserved. 

Coming down from that high was a slow, quiet process, with only their labored breaths remaining to fill the room. Barry sunk down on top of Len despite the mess between them, laid there twining their fingers together, and kissed Len sweetly. A few lingering sparks lit up the dim lighting of the supply closet because of the remarkable, forever irreplaceable boy above Len. 

“Can you…reach my T-shirt?” Barry huffed, placing a kiss to Len’s cheek. 

Len turned his head sluggishly. He tried to reach for the pile of clothes he’d rummaged through earlier, but finding himself unable and unwilling to move further than stretching out his arm, he raised an eyebrow. “Your arms are longer.”

“Urg,” Barry groaned. “Jerk.”

“You’re the one on top, Scarlet. Just being lazy.”

“Mmm…yep,” Barry said, and dipped down briefly to kiss Len again, before he made an exaggerated pained expression and reached over to grab his shirt. He used it to wipe them down, slower than usual, clearly sleepy, and probably still on the mend no matter how much he denied it. 

When he pulled away from Len to tie the condom off, he finally kicked into Flash speeds, and suddenly stood off the side of the mattress stretching and yawning after discarding the condom…somewhere, and bunching his T-shirt into the corner. There was a bag on the right side of the bed that Barry bent down to dig through until he made a noise of satisfaction, plopped down next to Len in a cross-legged position, and tore the wrapper from an energy bar—a normal one, not one of Cisco’s homemade concoctions that apparently tasted terrible. 

Like many times before, regardless of who had been in what position, Len was left tingling and sprawled out in the aftermath while Barry chomped on a snack. And damn if the whole display didn’t make him love the kid more. 

Barry caught Len staring and tilted the half-eaten protein bar toward him. 

“I’m good, thanks.” 

Barry shrugged. “Much rather have leftover bulgogi. Or Thai food. Oo! Or your French toast! God, that’s good. Rob’s was super tasty this morning, but still not as good as yours.” His stomach gave a weak gurgle at the thought as he finished off the protein bar.

“That gonna be enough for you?” Len asked. 

“I’ll survive. Ate a lot at dinner. I’d rather curl up and enjoy the moment.” He licked his lips of remaining crumbs, smiled all too charmingly, and snuggled in beside Len, pulling the covers up over them. Just as well; Len wasn’t sure he could move more than turning toward Barry and letting the kid wrap him up in his long, spindly arms. 

No one held Leonard Snart. No one snuggled and smiled and cared. It filled Len’s heart to bursting how easily Barry fell into the role, and made him want to be everything Barry needed—even though he knew now that them against the world wasn’t how it had to be. 

He kissed Barry chaste and gentle on the lips. The light was still on, but neither of them seemed to care. Still, tired as Len was, tired as Barry looked, it wasn’t time to fall asleep yet. 

“Tell me,” Len said, hooking his thumb around Barry’s jawline. 

“Tell you what?”

“Everything. I want to know how bad it got, how bad it was…that you had a bottle of pills,” Barry flinched at the mention, “and need to be reminded what a miracle you are with pixels,” then smiled when Len stroked his thumb along Barry’s cheekbone.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Barry said. 

“You wanna start like David Copperfield, you can.”

Barry chuckled. “We don’t need ‘I am born’. But I guess it does start when I was a kid. When Mom…” he trailed, his once again hazel eyes going distant.

“Tell me.” 

So Barry did. He told Len about birthdays that ended in tantrums, especially the first one after Nora’s death. About other years when the day ended with Barry locked in his room, alone and crying. About an obsession that always made Barry the weird kid at school, rambling about conspiracies and the impossible, until only Iris and Joe and a few patient teachers still looked at him like he was normal. 

He never had many friends. He could be as personable and cheery as you like, get people to warm to him easily, but sometimes things got dark, and not everyone could handle that. 

Cisco could. And Caitlin. Iris and Joe had always been there. Now Wally too. And Len. And more. 

Barry told him about Reverse Flash again, as well as a few details he’d left out the first time. About the Singularity. About losing Eddie. And Ronnie. And others he would always blame himself for. About how low he had been when he faced Camouflage, and how appealing the thought of hurting someone had seemed back then. 

The worst and yet maybe most important part was hearing about Barry’s plan to ruin Len, finally hearing it from start to finish; all Barry’s cruelties and twisted strategies, but how the real Len he got to know had chipped away at everything he thought he wanted until he found something so much better than revenge. 

“I kept telling myself you were conning _me_ , that it was justified, that you deserved it…but even when I was lying to myself, there were times when I…forgot. That night, when I scared you with the suit…” He clenched his eyes shut. “That damn suit, I…I just wanted to make you feel safe again. I wasn’t thinking about leaving someday and tearing your heart out. I wanted to show you how amazing you are, how beautiful your scars can be…” He peeked his eyes open, and when he looked at Len, he smiled as though everything he saw was all he’d ever ask for. 

Len hadn’t spoken much while Barry told him the tale of his deepest pains and fears. Even now he wasn’t sure what words would be enough, so he simply held Barry and smiled back at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. 

“When Dunkirk attacked you…that was the night I was going to tell you the truth. That’s why I’d avoided you for so long. I didn’t know how to say it without hurting you. I just knew I had to be honest, had to explain. But instead of coming clean, I lost myself in you again, and…and then I ran when you opened up and told me that you loved me.” He choked on the words, tears edging closer to the surface. 

It was all so fresh for them still, yet so much had happened since that night, it felt like ages ago. 

Len lay in a storage closet in STAR Labs, wrapped in the arms of The Flash, talking love and life, maybe even a future, while he brushed away the tears leaking from Barry’s eyes. Nothing about this had to make sense, it just had to work for them. Just had to make them happy, and healthy, and better off being together instead of worse. 

“I forgive you, Barry,” Len said, no doubts left, no room for any. “Can you forgive me? For all the rest?”

“Of course,” Barry sniffled a shuddery breath. “I’m not…better, maybe I’ll never be better, but when I was honest with you, that’s when I was happiest.” 

“That’s just it,” Len smiled. “Wasn’t me. It was you. Being who you are and not pretending you’re okay when you’re not.” 

“I know. The pills…” Barry cringed at bringing them up again, “…Caitlin gave them to me to help, and they did, I believed they did, but Scudder kept messing with me, and you _hated_ me, and I got so low…I thought about it. But I never tried to go through with it,” he insisted again, though even now that didn’t calm Len’s anxieties completely. 

He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it himself when he was young, the same age as Barry had been when things started to get…bad, though a very different sort of bad. It didn’t stick for Len. Didn’t haunt him. Only maybe it had, in other ways, given the life he’d led, but it wasn’t the same as the pain he saw in Barry’s eyes. There was no competition over who’d had it tougher, just different pain handled differently that sometimes wasn’t enough without help. 

“After I threw the pills away, Caitlin told me the truth,” Barry continued. “Meds can’t help me. Someone else like me, sure, but not me, not with my metabolism. I have to crawl my way out of this slower, until something snaps in place and my body finally gets it. And maybe that’ll never happen. Maybe it’ll always be a struggle. But Scudder is not taking my life from me,” he said with conviction, with a confidence he’d been lacking. “He’s not taking my happiness, or my control, or my hope. That’s mine, and I _am_ going to get better.”

Fierce tears slipped free and he blinked them back, focusing on Len’s face so close to his own. Len’s breath caught at just how green Barry’s eyes looked when they were damp.

“So…if you can handle knowing I might have bad days...” Barry’s voice dropped lower. 

“We all have bad days,” Len said. 

“Not like mine.” 

There was a deep sadness in the way he said that, not as if he was giving up, just accepting of how much farther he still had to go, that he might always need to fight. Len stroked his cheek. “I think we can both admit we’ve seen each other at our best and worst. I’d still like nothing more than _this_.” He squeezed Barry and tangled their legs together. “If that’s enough for you too?” 

Just like that, the clouds parted from Barry’s expression, and he smiled again like he could outshine any sadness that ever touched him. It wasn’t as easy as that, Len knew, but Barry’s light was extraordinary, and kept on twinkling even when it got buried. 

They went for each other at the same time, lips meeting, bodies flush in how they held on tight. It was all so new to Len, having something like this, even wanting it, but here he was. 

Len kissed Barry’s nose when they pulled apart, and Barry giggled. “Now we should sleep.” 

“I know,” Barry sighed. “But then I have to get up to turn the light off.” 

“Glad you’re volunteering.” 

“ _Hey_.” Barry pushed at him playfully, and while they untangled to lay beside each other more comfortably, Barry didn’t get up just yet. He tapped his fingers down Len’s chest. “Caitlin said you figured it out, that you knew Scudder wasn’t me. How?”

“The way he acted should have been enough, but no one jumps to the conclusion they’re looking at an imposter,” Len said. “Had this feeling though, wouldn’t go away, like I get on a job sometimes that’s about to go sour. Then it was the little things. No lightning trail. Way he ran from the room we’d blocked off from reflections. Getting inside the cold field without any sign of frost. But what made it click was when he tried to pull that red eyes con. Always knew that wasn’t in you.” 

A sweet smile tugged at Barry’s lips, though he looked sleepier now. Maybe they’d doze off just as they were with the light still shining above them. 

“Strange though,” Len said, coiling his fingers with Barry’s, “how my mind tricked itself into thinking the suit was skin when he touched me. All those little mirrors. Only thing he couldn’t hide was the belt.” 

“Belt?”

“Belt on the suit. Saw it whether he was looking like you or not, actually…” Len frowned. “Didn’t think the suit had a belt before.”

“It doesn’t,” Barry said. “The suit doesn’t have a belt. Scudder was wearing a…” he trailed, the sudden quiet tense around them, until Barry bolted up into a sitting position. “A belt! He was wearing a belt! It’s the belt!” He gestured at Len emphatically. 

Len sat up after Barry as the same truth dawned on him. “That’s how he’s been using tech to travel through mirrors.” The belt hadn’t been as noticeable when they were looking at Scudder in his own costume, but Len’s mind was built to pick apart details, and he remembered now that it was the same belt—on Scudder’s suit, on Reverse Barry, and on the black Flash suit Scudder had used against them. “Then what’s his meta power?” 

“I have a theory,” Barry said, “crossed my mind while I was in the maze. But if we know what tech he’s using to enter the mirror world…” 

“We can disrupt it,” Len grinned.

“Then I can disrupt it with my lightning. We have to tell everyone!” Barry flashed to his feet. 

“Barry!” Len caught his wrist. “It’s the middle of the night and you’re stark naked. Sleep. We can tell the others in the morning.” 

Barry looked half lost in thought, distracted by plans and calculations as Len tugged him back down to the mattress. “Right,” he said with his eyes still distant, “you’re right.” Finally, he met Len’s gaze with a bright smile as he slipped under the covers again. “Thank you.”

“Great minds think better together,” Len said. His thoughts swirled with ideas too, but they both needed rest. Tomorrow they’d have an edge when they finished the plan against Scudder. 

“Yeah,” Barry grinned, blinking sleepily despite his shock of adrenaline, “they do.” He flicked his eyes down and back up Len’s body with a hint of mischief. “But you should still be the one to get the light.”

 _Brat._

XXXXX

“Wait. Scudder’s a human GPS?” Cisco exclaimed. 

Barry grinned in his excitement. “We know he was at the circus fun house when the Particle Accelerator blew. We know he had a way INTO the Mirror Maze, but wouldn’t risk going with the risk of getting hopelessly lost. So what if he had the belt then, just to do experiments, wasn’t planning on actually going inside yet, but when the blast of the accelerator blew, he got thrown into it. He was screwed, no way to know which mirror was the one he’d entered from…until he realized he _did_ know. Because his meta powers activated and gave him exactly what he needed to know where he was at any given time in relation to everything around him.” 

“So once he could safely experiment in the mirror world,” Hartley picked up on what Barry was saying, “it was easy to tweak his technology to let him in and out of any mirrors at will, not just the one he’d entered through first.”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” Len answered. “Still has an advantage by always knowing which reflections to find us in—”

“But if we disrupt the belt, it won’t matter,” Barry broke in. He was too pumped, too restless to see this through. 

They had him. They finally had him.

Their overlarge crew was gathered in the cortex—all thirteen of them now that Arty Andrews had joined them. Hartley had looked mildly concerned that he’d be in trouble for inviting the man, but Barry was in too good of spirits to care, especially when Scudder didn’t have the full Invisible Man suit anymore to trick them. 

“It’s okay. Pretty sure you figured out I was The Flash when I came to your shop, right?” Barry had smiled at him. 

At first glance, Arty seemed uneasy facing Barry, and scratched his neck much like Barry’s own nervous tick before he looked at him with a wide-eyed sense of awe. “It crossed my mind.”

Hartley had elbowed Arty and rolled his eyes dramatically, but Len trusted the guy, that’s the only endorsement Barry needed. 

“Need to be sure we don’t play our hand too soon with the changes to our guns,” Len said to the group. “They can still project the cold and heat fields with Hartley’s enhancements. We should use those first to throw Scudder off. The Miasma Field is separate.”

“So what’s the play here?” Joe asked, brow tight with concern. 

“The trap’s still perfect,” Wally jumped in, smile as blinding as always. “Scudder won’t pass up a display of mirrors like that. And now we know he’ll see it as soon as we lure him in.”

“And we don’t have to trick him out of the maze anymore," Barry said. "We can give him exactly what he wants. We go into the mirror world with him, let him think he’ll win, think he has the advantage, then sever his connection by shorting out the belt.”

“Didn’t you say that was dangerous?” Iris asked. “We can’t use the Miasma Maker in the mirror world because it could seal you in there.”

“This is different,” Len assured her. “The mirror world existed before Scudder found a way inside, so him losing his ability to get there won’t affect us.”

“But you’ll still need a way out,” Lisa frowned, arms crossed stiffly over her chest. “Won’t you get lost?”

“Barry found his way out before,” Caitlin offered.

“That took hours,” Barry shook his head. “We don’t want to stumble around blind. But we won’t have to. Because if all we do is disrupt Scudder’s belt, he’ll still have his internal GPS. _He’ll_ lead us to the mirror that brings us home. He’ll have no choice.”

The others looked around with varied expressions of skepticism and excitement, but Barry would not be deterred. This was their best chance. It would work. It had to work. 

“Let’s say all this goes to plan,” Singh spoke up, back in a familiar suit and tie like Barry was used to. “We set the trap up out of town, lure Scudder in, you—and I assume Snart and Rory?”

“If you’re willing,” Barry looked to Mick, who grunted like that was a stupid question. “But no one else,” Barry turned to the others, mostly Joe and Lisa, who he knew might demand otherwise. Neither said anything, but they didn’t look happy. Shawna, at least, seemed relieved to not be called on. 

“Fine,” Singh said, “but then what? What do the rest of us do?” 

“Well—” Barry started but was cut off by the chime of his cell phone, which…who could be calling him when everyone was here? Everyone except…

Barry’s eyes darted to his phone as he pulled it from his pocket, which he’d only even grabbed that morning on reflex. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw ‘Dad’ flashing on the screen. 

“Dad!” he answered in a rush. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, I completely forgot you were coming today. Don’t go to the house, come—”

“My, my, Flash…” a voice interrupted that was _not_ Barry’s father—the worst voice he could hear today. “If I actually was your father, how’d I get a word in edgewise with the way you run your mouth?”

“ _Scudder_ ,” Barry snarled, a chill coursing through him as everyone’s eyes snapped his direction. “What have you done with my dad?”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of you guessed that Henry was our missing member, and that he'd told Barry he was coming on Saturday, which for them is TODAY. I still have some surprises in store for you though...
> 
> And now Scudder's secrets are revealed. Barry is indeed correct in his assumptions about Scudder's powers and the belt. Whether that will be enough to see them through the final fight, you'll have to wait and see. I mentioned the belt only a handful of times so it wouldn't be too obvious, but I did also mention it both when he was Reverse Barry and when he was wearing the black Flash suit. :-) 
> 
> Thank you all!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Henry's life at stake, Barry and Len bring the fight to Scudder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart is still beating fast from writing this...and there's still so much to go. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, because it was an insane scene to write, and I hope I pulled it off. 
> 
> I also hope you're still enjoying this as we near the end. I thought I wouldn't get as much done this past week, but I might be able to get another one done, or close to it at least, before I leave for California next week. Phew! We'll see how well the updates come, but if all works out, this fic will finish before the shows return regardless. 
> 
> Thank you all!

Scudder’s laughter sounded over the line. 

The shiver of cold Barry had felt before burned hot as he clutched his cell phone tighter. “If you’ve done _anything_ to my father…”

“Calm down, Flash. We’re just passing the time, real friendly like. See?”

“Barry?” came Henry’s voice, sounding gruff and weak.

“Dad!”

“Don’t listen to him, son! Don’t fall for—” but he cut off abruptly, and Barry imagined Scudder kicking him or striking him, and that just made him angrier.

His eyes locked on Len’s across the room, and the similar coldness he found there, the firm set to Len’s jaw that Barry had only ever seen when the thief was around Lewis, made him feel justified in that moment for wanting Scudder’s head on a platter. “If you hurt him…”

“Let’s move on to negotiation, Flash. You’re working on a plan, right? Probably to trap me or lock me out of the mirror world again? So, tell me, do you have some new reflective surfaces for me to invade?”

Barry scanned the faces of his friends, who had all been working so hard the past few days, putting their many differences aside to be a team and face Scudder together. In the next few moments, all that could amount to nothing. “Yes,” Barry answered.

“Good. Bring them. Set them up just as you planned. Wherever you want.”

Barry scowled. Scudder thought he had an advantage, assumed they couldn’t outmaneuver him. But he didn’t know what they knew. Henry didn’t know either, so Scudder couldn’t get any information out of him, and everyone else was with Barry. 

They still had a chance to win this. 

“The field out of town where you visited the circus,” Barry said. Several faces looked at him in surprise for giving up the location of the fun house. 

“Clever,” Scudder said with a note of derision. “Done. Go ahead, plan your worst. Just remember: your father’s in here with me. You have one hour.” He hung up, and Barry felt all sense of control slip through his fingers as he shook and clutched fiercely at his phone. 

So he replaced the need for control with hatred. With resolve. 

“Barry…” Iris said, standing beside him as she offered a gentle hand on his arm for support. 

They couldn’t kill Scudder, they couldn’t kill him, they _couldn’t_. Barry wanted to be better than that. But if anything happened to his dad… 

Barry held Len’s gaze, an understanding passing between them that made Barry sick to his stomach, yet he didn’t know what else he should be feeling right now. He didn’t want to be the man he’d been before he learned to love Leonard Snart, but for now the only thing that mattered was saving his father. 

“Nothing changes,” Barry said, shoving his cell phone back into his pocket. “Scudder has my dad…but everything else continues as planned. He gave us an hour. Let’s use it.”

Hartley and Cisco jumped into action immediately, not even waiting for a signal. The others looked to Barry for direction. Len continued to stare at Barry with a promise in the depths of his eyes that Scudder was not taking anything else away from them. 

“Let’s get to work,” Barry said, and one by one, he and Len turned to the others and began issuing orders as if their teams had always worked in tandem, with a captain of the CCPD in their ranks and more firepower than most armies between their meta humans and tech. 

Scudder believed he couldn’t lose; Barry intended to prove him wrong. 

XXXXX

It was still early, closing in on 10:30 in the morning. Central City’s skyline looked peaceful in the distance, still and bright with the sun reflecting off the buildings like sparkles of crystal. The location for setting up the mirror trap wasn’t far from the woods. When this was over, Barry wanted to go there with Len, push him up against one of the trees, and kiss him. Replace a few bad memories with better ones. 

When this was over…

“Hey,” Iris’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, his gaze distracted on the view of the city. “I know this might seem like a stupid question, Barr, but…are you okay?”

He turned toward her. He wore the Flash suit but had the cowl drawn back. Behind Iris the trap stood tall as it received its final touches, the mirrors all facing inward, though with a few crevices and corners within the closed off space to tempt Scudder. There was a single entrance that teased them with the edge of the first mirror, its surface muted with the Miasma Field still on by way of the cold gun. 

The others all had their parts to play today. Shawna was back watching Len’s neighborhood in case Scudder strung them along with decoys and tried to play dirty. Her powers wouldn’t be as useful in this situation, not without sending her into the heart of the Mirror Maze, and Barry couldn’t ask her that. 

Carla was still safely tucked away at the Labs with Mai and Michael. They’d been ever out of earshot from their planning, because Carla hadn’t wanted Michael to worry about his favorite superheroes. Michael had hugged both Barry and Len goodbye before they left, only knowing that they had a bad guy to catch, so he wished them luck. 

“Piece a cake, Mikey, no big deal,” Len had said to appease him. 

Arty was back at the Labs as well, partially so Carla and the kids wouldn’t be alone, but also because Hartley had insisted despite Arty’s help with some remaining tweaks to the cold and heat guns. Len was finally assuaged that his precious weapon had the right weight and balance again. 

Singh sat vigil at the precinct. He couldn’t be a missing person for another day, and someone had to be ready to send in the cavalry once Scudder was on ice and ready to be taken into custody. Rob had gone with him. Singh wasn’t willing to let his husband out of his sight until Scudder was captured. 

The rest were all within Barry’s field of vision. Caitlin, regardless of her injured arm, refused to stay back in case any medical attention was needed. Joe stood watching Wally, who’d insisted on helping Cisco and Hartley, no matter how much it made Joe worry to have both of his sons near danger. And of course Iris wasn’t willing to be left behind either. Not this time. Not if something went wrong. 

Then there were the rest of the Rogues—Len talking with Mick and Lisa with that deliberate way about his gestures that Barry found hypnotic. He’d seen Mick roll his eyes more than once in just the span of time he’d spared to glance at them, but despite how easily they all worked together, how used to danger they were, Lisa stood with her arms crossed, frowning at her brother. She was worried. They all were. Scudder was like some storybook monster with powers they couldn’t comprehend. 

Only they could comprehend them. They knew his secrets now. And they were going to beat him. 

“I’m scared for Dad,” Barry said, as he dropped his eyes from the others to look at Iris, “but I’m okay. Really. Because I know we can do this. Half of me keeps thinking…if only I’d remembered Dad was coming. Or if I’d told him not to come until Scudder was taken care of. If I’d just stayed away from that damn mirror in the hospital and never let Scudder take me…”

“Barry…” Iris’s brow knit together in sympathy. 

“But the other half of me,” Barry pushed on before she could give him one of the speeches he’d heard too many times from too many people, “that other half knows it isn’t my fault. So if I’m not going to wallow then I’m going to do something about it. Right now I’m focused on the plan. If it works, it’ll finally all be over, and…” he brightened and summoned a smile, “we can celebrate by taking Dad out to lunch.” He snickered at the thought of it being that simple. He didn’t want to envision a scenario where his father needed to be rushed to the hospital. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Iris said, smiling back at him even through her downturned eyebrows. “Big Belly Burger or someplace nicer?”

Barry snorted. “Actually…there’s this Korean café attached to a corner store in Len’s neighborhood…” His stomach rumbled at the thought of Mrs. Pak’s bulgogi. “There isn’t room for everyone, but I bet the owner would figure something out.” 

At last Iris’s smile filled her face without any traces of pity. Her eyes crinkled as she poked Barry’s stomach. “You two are ridiculously domestic, you know that? Who would have thought? But the way you were grinning at breakfast this morning tells me you definitely didn’t sleep alone last night.”

“What?” Heat flushed to Barry’s cheeks, and he habitually reached for the back of his neck, which was always harder to accomplish with his cowl in the way. “That obvious, huh?” It had been bad enough when Mick winked at him while they passed in the hallways. Having the pyro as a neighbor was never happening again. Though Barry supposed knowing smirks and winks were better than having the heat gun jabbed in his face. 

“Lately, I think I’ve seen more of you pretending to be happy than the real thing,” Iris said, reaching to take Barry’s hand and squeezing before he could protest that. “A real smile, real happiness, looks very different on you. I’ve started to realize that the few times I have seen it were always because of him. I have to admit…I wasn’t okay with you two in the beginning.” 

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be,” Barry said. “Any of you.”

“But that was before I saw how much he was willing to fight for you.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “The fact that this group of unlikely allies managed to pull together a plan this huge, working side by side in close quarters for days, proves that you and Snart finding happiness together is not the strangest thing we’ve dealt with. If you want to work through the complications that might come up and just be happy with him, Barr, I honestly believe you can do it. I want you to do it. I love seeing you as content as you were this morning. You deserve that. Not that you need my blessing…”

Barry squeezed her hand back, ready to tug her in for a hug, because no, he didn’t need her blessing, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it. 

“Isn’t it my blessing you should be worried about?” 

Iris and Barry darted their attention to the side to see that Joe had snuck up on them. But he wasn’t frowning, or looking on in disapproval. He had that resigned smile he got whenever he knew he couldn’t convince Barry not to do something. Iris released Barry’s hand as Joe came up and gripped his shoulder. 

“What she said,” Joe nodded to Iris. “Just with a bit more skepticism. Not a lot…just a bit. Can’t wait to chat with Henry about his thoughts on all this,” he snickered. 

Some of the tension in Barry’s shoulders eased beneath Joe’s touch. “He’s been impressively neutral about it so far, while somehow still being supportive. I think that might be his superpower,” Barry chuckled, causing both Joe and Iris to chuckle with him. “He probably wants to wait to meet Len before casting his judgement.” It eased the sting of worry to talk about Henry as if he was merely on his way to see them and everything would be fine in a short while. 

Because it would be. Barry had to believe it would be. 

“A month ago I woulda cursed and hollered,” Joe said, patting Barry’s shoulder before dropping his arm. He glanced back at the mirror trap, at Len with Mick and Lisa. “Now…can’t deny he loves you, Barry. Lord knows I’d rather he be watching your back than using it for target practice.” 

Barry laughed. “Me too.” 

“Explain to me again how putting yourself in a damn fun house makes things harder on Scudder?” Joe raised an eyebrow as he turned back to Barry.

“Too few mirrors, and he wouldn’t come,” Barry said. “Too far apart, and we can’t predict where he is.” 

“But he wants you in this Mirror Maze of his.” 

“Probably. But he won’t just take me in. He’ll want to hurt me first. Mess with my head.” Barry refused to shudder at the memory of how much Scudder had gotten inside his head in the past. He knew better now. “The trick is to figure out which mirror is active before he realizes we know. Then we can enter the maze on our terms. It’ll only give us a few seconds of surprise, but it might help. Might mean we can get to Dad before Scudder realizes what’s happening.” 

“I know you have it all worked out,” Joe said, much as his tight brow betrayed his worry, “just…be careful, alright? I know you always are, but don’t let Scudder get to you. Don’t let him trip you up and get you to make mistakes. We’re all here with you, Barry.” This time he glanced at Wally still helping Cisco and Hartley with the finishing touches on the trap. “This family keeps getting bigger and bigger.”

Barry understood what Joe really meant by that—he didn’t want their family getting any _smaller_. Barry wanted to hug his father like he’d felt the need to hug Iris, but he held back. This wasn’t goodbye; he shouldn’t be saying goodbye. That would only make this harder. It was just a fight, just a villain he had to face like many others before him. This was Barry’s job, and he wasn’t doing it alone. 

“Barry?” Len’s voice filtered over to them before Barry could think of anything to say. 

Joe and Iris parted and there Len stood. He had his gear on, parka and all, including the new goggles Hartley had tweaked. Len nodded once to Joe and Iris, no smirk in place just assurance in the task ahead. Then his eyes landed on Barry. 

“Ready?”

XXXXX

The hour was almost up. Only a few minutes remaining. They couldn’t risk making Scudder wait. With Hartley and Cisco on comms, and Captain Singh listening in for the moment it was safe to send in reinforcements from the station, the others hung back while Len, Barry, and Mick entered the mirror trap. 

Once Barry gave the signal, Len looked at his Miasma Field through his goggles and slowly began to bring the radius in closer, until it only struck the mirrors nearest them, and then he turned it off completely. 

‘Fun house’ was definitely a close approximation of their surroundings once the frosted look disappeared and the mirrors around them shimmered with renewed reflections. Dozens of copies of Len, Barry, and Mick looked back at them, more than dozens, since the placement of the mirrors reflected the reflections infinitely into the distance. 

Len sensed Barry fidgeting at his side, Len being on the kid’s left, Mick at his right. Barry was always antsy, always ready to run, but these nerves were different. The hour had dissipated some of Barry’s immediate fury toward Scudder, but if Len found an opportunity to kill the man, he doubted he could stop himself from taking it. Once they were in the mirror world, they might need Scudder to get them safely out again, but Barry was blinded by heroic ambition. Like Len had told him, sometimes people got what they had coming to them. 

At least that was what Len wanted to believe, but when he took in all the many Barrys he could see reflected in the mirrors, standing between him and Mick as a unified front against a common enemy, the thrill and adrenaline Len loved about the best laid plans of a successful heist, surged through him like never before. Side by side with Barry Allen, surrounded by mirrors at odd angles and turns, no more than five feet from them in any given direction, Len could admit that he didn’t want to let Barry down. 

“Such a lovely gift you’ve brought me,” Scudder’s voice echoed through the chamber, causing the hair on Len’s arms to prickle. One by one, the images of Len, Barry, and Mick flickered out, replaced by the visage of Scudder in his orange and green suit. 

Len side-eyed the exit, just to see the sliver of light to remind him that there was a way out, they weren’t trapped, this was a trap for Scudder. Still, he couldn’t help thinking, _why’d they have to build it with a ceiling?_

“So nice of you to invite me,” Scudder went on, grinning from within his cowl. “But just the three of you? What are the others up to, I wonder…?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Scudder,” Len said, smirking when Scudder twitched at the use of his name instead of his alias. “Busy schedule this morning. So why don’t you hand over Allen, and we’ll be on our way.”

Scudder tossed his head back with a sharp laugh. “Always did love your sense of humor, Cold.” The reflections shimmered and shorted out like a faulty connection, and when Scudder’s image returned, it was focused further back, showing off his entire body, with Henry Allen tied to a chair in front of him. 

“Dad!” Barry cried out, flinching forward, but managing to hold himself back. Len sighed in relief that the kid had some sense of self-control left, even with how terrified he was over his father. 

Henry did not look well. Scudder might have gotten his hands on him as early as last night for all they knew. His face was bruised, lip bleeding, eyes tired like he’d been interrogated all night, beaten for information he couldn’t give. Again, Len wanted to give Scudder what the piece of shit had coming to him, but however this ended, they had to be smart, careful, patient. 

“I’m all right, slugger,” Henry said between labored breaths. “Whatever he wants…don’t give in. Don’t worry about me. Don’t—”

“So noble,” Scudder spoke over him, and with a flourish, Henry was obscured by a sudden stretch of fabric that covered his head and shoulders. It was Barry’s jacket from the night at the hospital. “But we wouldn’t want any distractions now, would we? We have so much to discuss.”

“Cut the bullshit and get on with it then,” Mick growled.

“Cold, turn on the cold field,” Cisco spoke over the comms. “He’ll try to reach out of the mirrors soon. We need him on the defensive. Time to make him mad, guys.”

Len complied without saying a word, just a subtle shift of his grip on the gun that Scudder wouldn’t notice as anything but nervous tension. Len spread out the cold field to fill the space, meaning he had to stay in tight quarters with Barry and Mick, but if Scudder poked even a single finger outside a mirror, he’d get a taste of frost bite. 

Len’s new goggles weren’t merely fitted with AR to display the radius of his fields; they also transmitted everything he saw back to Cisco and Hartley. Mick’s goggles were the same. Scudder had them surrounded with different versions of himself to watch every move they made, but they had extra eyes too.

“What do you want, Scudder?” Barry demanded, emotion making his voice catch. “My father has nothing to do with this.”

The mirrors flickered again, and Henry’s image disappeared, leaving only Scudder, a close up on his sneering face. “What do I want? It’s simple, really. I want to publically ruin all of you so this city understands there’s a new king in town. The Flash and Captain Cold are nothing. Has-beens. But the people don’t get that yet. See, they barely even know to fear me.” 

As a group, the three of them started a slow pivot while Scudder monologued, tightening their formation and scanning the mirrors around them, section by section. 

“There’s been no real press. All my heists have been small, even the diamond barely headline news at six o’clock. ‘Captain Cold, at it again’,” he mimicked in an announcer voice, “had more coverage after your foreplay the other night than when I had you both on the run.” 

“CCPD knows you’re worth bringing in,” Barry said. 

“Course the rest a the Joe Schmoes out there recognize what a chump you are,” Mick added, which had the desired effect—Scudder snarled. 

“Now, now, Mick, be fair,” Len jumped in. “’Chump’ implies someone else is duping Scudder. But he’s only duping himself. More of an amateur with delusions of grandeur. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he grinned at one of Scudder’s many reflections. “We all have to start small.” 

“Ah!” Scudder yelped, and Len and the others spun around to where the sound had come from. Len fired at one of the mirrors, but if Scudder had been there reaching out, he’d already retreated. One mirror was useless now, coated in ice. 

“Afraid I’ll nip at your nose, Scudder," Len called with a lofty grin. "Maybe we should make things easier on you.”

“Switch to the heat field,” Hartley told them. “When he tries again, he’ll get further out before he realizes something’s wrong.”

Len turned his field off. A moment later, he saw the red ring of Mick’s field fill the space where his blue had been. Even inside the eye of safety, Len felt the edge of stifling heat creep into his parka and shorten his breath. 

“Give him some bait to try again,” Cisco said. “Back up toward a mirror before moving away, then keep your backs to it.”

“Just ask ol’ Red here!” Mick called out. “You think we ever ran scared facing him down?”

Len and Mick followed Barry’s lead, since he was in the middle, moving together as best they could. Whenever Len was too far out of the eye of the field, he felt it, the sudden suffocating heat, and shifted accordingly. 

This time Scudder’s voice came out as a gasp and gulp for air, and it was Mick’s turn to fire at the mirror nearest them. The arc of flames singed part of Scudder’s arm, but he got away with only a few scorches. 

“You think these tricks will save your father!” Scudder roared. 

“Don’t hurt him!” Barry cried, not trying to hide how stricken he was. “Please! Just let him go and we’ll give you the fight you want. You can broadcast it to the whole city for all I care!”

“Oh…” Scudder said in a low, menacing tone, “I already am.” 

For a moment the mirrors displayed their own reflections again, and Len imagined that same view being seen by thousands of people throughout the city—Captain Cold and Heat Wave bookending The Flash against a greater threat. 

“He’s right, Allen,” Singh’s voice came over the comms. “I got reports coming in from all over about a livestream of the fight. Uniforms are on standby til you give the order, but be careful. You got an audience.” 

_Shit._ That was one thing they hadn’t planned for. 

Len could see on Barry’s face that he wanted to respond, to express his alarm, but they couldn’t risk Scudder or the watching public learning too much. 

“Heat field off. Give him a window,” Hartley said. 

And Cisco added, “Keep him running from mirror to mirror, just a little longer.”

The circle of red disappeared and Len relaxed into the cooler air that followed. They had to make Scudder think they didn’t have a better plan. Too long and he’d start to get suspicious, but they couldn’t act too quickly either. 

Barry zipped forward suddenly and reached for Scudder’s hand that Len hadn’t even noticed had breached the surface of a mirror. Barry’s speed meant he almost grabbed hold of the bastard, but Scudder could play bait too. Barry slammed into the hard surface seconds later, causing a large crack to form up the middle. Scudder’s laughter ricocheted to taunt them. 

“Same tired tricks as last time, Flash? Don’t you ever learn?”

Scudder’s hands darted out of the mirrors on either side of Barry to grab his arms, pulling taut and stretching him against the cracked surface of the mirror in front of him like he meant to split Barry in two. 

Len and Mick both jolted forward and aimed their guns, but they had nothing to shoot at other than the mirrors. Scudder’s hands had disappeared into the reflections taking Barry’s wrists and hands along with them. Firing into the open reflections might… Len shuddered at the thought of Barry’s hands being severed. 

Barry cried out at the strain of his stretched arms, but Len held a hand out to keep Mick back. Smart. Careful. Patient.

“Come out and face us, Mirror Master!” Len called to mollify him. “If you’re really worthy of that crown!” 

“Come out?” Scudder scoffed. “Where’d the fun be in that?”

The whine that left Barry when Scudder released him proved both his pain and his relief at being let go. He sagged further against the broken mirror, drawing his arms into his body. Len and Mick hooked him around the waist instead of grabbing his overwrought arms and pulled him back into the center of the fun house. 

“You okay, kid?” Len whispered. 

Barry cringed as he held his shoulders, but when he ducked his head toward Len…he winked. He was fine, just playing it up, playing the game like they’d planned. Len looked over Barry’s shoulder at Mick and nodded. 

“Now,” Cisco said, seeing the signal. 

“Both fields,” Hartley agreed.

Together, Len and Mick turned their respective fields on, and in the moment that the opposing temperatures collided, there was an eruption of snowfall. 

The ceiling closed them in, but it was high, high enough for just this purpose. If they were right, there should always be at least one active mirror when Scudder used his tech—while he was reaching out of one, but also whichever mirror was left open that he’d most recently used. 

Len and Mick turned the fields off as soon as the snow began, and as it drifted toward the ground, much of it landed on the surfaces of the mirrors and stuck there, either building up or starting to melt. But for any mirror that was an open gateway, the snow should drift straight in. 

“Pretty backdrop, Cold,” Scudder jeered, “but hardly enough to save you, or The Flash’s father.” 

Len ignored him and scanned for the mirror they needed. Once they were inside the mirror world, a few seconds of the upper hand could make all the difference. Len and Mick could save Henry, and Barry just had to get his hands on Scudder _once_. A burst of lightning was all it would take to end this. 

_There._

In the corner near the exit with its strip of light from outside, the snow wasn’t collecting on the surface of the mirror, but disappearing into it completely. 

Len reached for Barry’s hand, squeezed and tugged the kid his direction, just as the fun house reflections coalesced into a single image like a wall of monitors building a mosaic, with Scudder and Henry centered in front of them. Scudder held a shard of glass in his hand, raised up, above Henry’s back, whose head was still covered with Barry’s jacket. He had no idea…

Len tightened his hold on Barry. Most other people would have been caught in the moment, trapped by their fear and Scudder’s threats, but Barry was stronger than that. He turned to Len, trusting in his firm grip. 

“Last one,” Len said, clear as day, hoping it was enough for Barry to understand. 

The subtle flick of Barry’s eyes up and beyond Len proved he did. 

“Now we end this, Flash,” Scudder said. 

“Yeah,” Barry nodded, not looking away from Len, “we do.”

Barry had Len around the waist the next second, had Mick somehow too, and with a jerk of motion faster than any eye could blink, Len’s stomach got left behind where he’d been standing as he suddenly found himself somewhere else. They hadn’t burst into the mirror world directly where Scudder stood, but they were there, and it was not what Len had expected. 

The landscape glittered like stars with countless mirrors in an indecipherable pattern further into infinity than the fun house created, only these weren’t only reflections; the mirrors were real. They stood in equal height and width, some below them, some above, in every direction, with a floor and ceiling made out of pure black that gave no sense of stability even though Len could feel something solid beneath his feet. It was jarring, nauseating. But there wasn’t time to be thrown. 

“Where is he?!” Barry said frantically, spinning around in place, used to this strange place enough that he was able to ignore the strangeness of it, while the widening of Mick’s eyes proved he wasn’t enjoying the view one bit. 

Len spun in place as well, looking for signs of Scudder, of Henry, or both. When he didn’t immediately see anything, he paused to coat the top edges of the mirror they’d come from with a frame of ice. If something went wrong, at least they’d have a chance of finding their way out on their own. 

Barry zipped between nearby mirrors, scanning as far into the distance as he could, before zipping the other direction, flitting between Len and Mick with a blur of red and yellow. “I don’t see him!” he cried, the terror increasing in his voice and body language. 

“Flash…” Len reached out to him, careful not to use his real name in case the citizens of Central City were still watching. 

A crackling came over the comms, a few cut off words in Cisco’s voice, but nothing substantial followed, only static. They’d anticipated this, but now they knew—the comms didn’t work in the mirror world. Len could only guess if their cameras did for the others to still see what they were doing. 

“Thought you could sneak in uninvited, did you?” Scudder’s voice found them. So much for having the upper hand. The master of mirrors blinked into existence in every reflection around them. 

“Where’s my father?!” Barry’s arms vibrated as he clenched his fists in his anger and panic. 

Scudder’s many copies gestured to the left in a train of motioning hands. “Right there.” 

They all turned, and where nothing had been a moment ago, was the image of Henry tied to that chair, head and shoulders still covered with Barry’s jacket. He was a good dozen meters in the distance, but reachable in seconds at Barry’s speed. 

“Flash, don’t.” Len grabbed Barry’s arm before he could move. 

“I know,” Barry answered softly, even though his arm felt tense beneath Len’s grip.

“Option three?” Mick gruffed out, holding up his gun. 

“Not yet,” Len said, as he glanced back to make sure he had a sense of where the mirror they’d come from still stood. The coating of ice framed it like a gilding of diamonds. Len turned back to Barry, “Let’s—” only to feel an impossibly strong grip on his shoulders that lurched him back and then threw him forward into a mirror so hard his head smacked against the edge. 

“Len!”

The world spun as Len hit the ground. His goggles fritzed in front of his eyes, broken, because a crack now marred the right lens all the way down the center. If he hadn’t been wearing them, that would have been his skull.

Barry and Mick lifted Len from the voidless floor, and he shook off his dizziness, dragging the ruined goggles down to hang from his neck. 

“New plan,” Len huffed, wiping a trickle of blood from his forehead as he turned to Barry. “Start running. I’ll follow.” Len hefted up his gun to get the point across that he didn’t mean on foot. 

Barry nodded his understanding, as Mick cursed and moved to stand back to back with Len to keep watch behind him. Len no longer had his goggles, so now everything was guess work, but he remembered the distance around him that the cold field had stretched when it was last on. His steel trap of a memory would not dare let him down today. 

Barry set his sights on his father, ignoring the looming, laughing figure of Scudder in the reflections. When his lightning sparked and he took off running, Len turned on the cold field and followed after Barry, widening the radius further and further until, in his mind’s eye, it reached just shy of Henry’s chair. 

Barry appeared again right in front of Henry, but when he reached forward to grab him, the image vanished through his hands like smoke—a trick of the light, of the reflections. 

“No!” Barry whirled around, true fear on his face as he scanned for where his father might be. Henry had to be trapped inside a mirror like Barry had been, and every image they saw of him was an illusion. “Scudder, please!”

That laughter again—it set Len’s teeth on edge. “I do love it when you beg, Flash.”

Len seethed but he had to keep his wits about him. He turned the cold field off so Barry wouldn’t stumble into it. They had options. They had backup plan after backup plan. They could still do this. 

“By all means, try again,” Scudder called, and as Len continued to pivot with Mick at his back, he caught sight of Henry once more, about the same distance away, but in the opposite direction. 

Barry zipped from where he'd been standing, but not to his father. He stopped once he reached Len and Mick, still thinking smart—good. 

“Option three, Mick,” Len said. If this Henry was another illusion, then the Miasma Field would make him disappear. The version built into their guns was more controllable than a full wipe of the landscape—they had to take the risk. 

Len knew instantly the moment Mick turned the field on, because every mirror around them shattered. 

“Turn it off!” Barry cried. 

Like an explosion, the area around them had been covered in debris, a perfect circle of glittering carnage. Len and Barry both looked to the mirror they’d entered from with its coating of ice. It was still there, just barely out of range of the mirrors that had been destroyed. 

“We can’t,” Barry said. “If we destroy the mirror we came in through…”

“We won’t have a way out,” Len finished. 

Scudder’s laughter picked up again. "Oh please, keep making things harder on yourselves. And on him, of course.”

In the distance, Scudder stepped out of a mirror behind Henry’s chair. He had the shard of glass in his hand again, poised threateningly above Henry’s head. But now he was out in the open. He was vulnerable. 

Barry flashed forward without a moment’s thought, but the distance made it too easy for the mirrors to be a trick. There was no Henry or Scudder when Barry reached them, only illusion. With his lightning surging through him into his hands, Barry reached out as he collided with the mirror. His powers poured into it, causing the glass to shatter as potently as the Miasma Field.

“Careful, Flash,” Scudder’s voice echoed ominously, “you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Scudder!” Barry howled.

Len was going to peel the asshole’s skin off when he caught him. This wasn’t a game; this was torture again. 

“Heat field, now,” Len ordered Mick, and dragged his friend after him in Barry’s direction. “Hold your breath!” he called to warn him. They needed to regroup without the risk of Scudder reaching out of another reflection, but the heat and cold fields wouldn’t be enough on their own to save Henry. 

Barry looked miserable while he was caught in the heat field for those few, brief moments, but he breathed relief when Len and Mick reached him. 

“He’s in a mirror,” Len said softly as he gripped the back of Barry’s neck and held him closer than he probably should with a potential audience watching. “Breaking one freed you before, right? We can do the same to find your father.”

“But the way home—”

“If we keep that mirror in our sights,” Len said, gesturing back at the now more distant mirror covered in ice, “we can do this. Trust me.” He thought for one small moment about kissing Barry, but instead he released him. “Mick, watch for Scudder.”

Mick grunted. 

“Secret, secrets, secrets…” Scudder called to them. “Whatever are you planning?”

They turned together toward the nearest mirror, a new resolve settling over them. When Mick grunted again to signal he’d turned off the heat field, Len switched on the Miasma Field in its wake. 

A dozen mirrors shattered instantly, giving Len a clear view of the available radius even without his goggles. Scudder could project himself wherever he wanted, but he still physically existed in only one mirror at a time. When Scudder’s image appeared in the next mirror down from the blast radius, Len followed him. 

Again, more mirrors erupted with an explosion of glass, concentrated enough that the shards didn’t spray them even as they raced in pursuit of Scudder. All the while, Len kept his eyes on the mirror they needed to get home. 

Scudder laughed—always laughing—confident he had them beat, but they had him on the run now, and Team Flash did not lose when there was a chase involved. 

Barry darted ahead of the Miasma Field’s reach, hoping to head Scudder off, or maybe to discover that blessed moment when Henry would be revealed in the debris. Meanwhile, Mick stayed at Len’s heels, heat gun raised for any sign of Scudder in the open. 

One chance, just one chance for them to—there!

Mick saw the opening without Len having to say a word—Scudder, the real thing not merely a reflection, erupted out of a mirror in the flesh. He scrambled to reach the next available reflection, but Mick blasted him with a shot from his heat gun. Scudder screamed as the flames scorched his face and upper body.

Barry dove into a sprint to reach him, but even with his speed, he narrowly missed Scudder just as the bastard crawled into the safety of another mirror. Len continued to chase him with the Miasma Field, but when that next mirror erupted, Scudder wasn’t there. 

Mick cried out in surprise, and Len whipped around, seeing that Scudder had projected himself behind Mick and had a hold of him around the waist, tightening his grip with his tech enhanced strength. Scudder was only just out of range of the Miasma Field, but if Len encompassed the mirror and destroyed it, Mick might be seriously injured. 

“I’m gonna take your head off!” Scudder shrieked, the reflection of his face looking blackened and painful. Only his arms were visible outside the mirror, but he soon had Mick partially pulled into the surface with him.

Len had seconds to decide how to help. If Scudder got Mick into the mirror far enough that his own hands were no longer exposed, he could close it off and cut Mick in half. Len considered a blast from his cold gun, but that would only freeze Scudder’s hands to Mick’s chest. 

“Flash, the heat gun!” Len turned, but just as he did, a blur of yellow lightning was already zipping past him. Barry took up Mick’s gun and blasted Scudder’s hands with a shot of flames. 

“Ah!” Scudder screamed again as he yanked his hands back, and Mick collapsed forward onto his knees. Len increased the Miasma Field immediately, but as Barry darted forward to protect Mick from the shattering glass, the aftermath revealed that Scudder was gone. 

In his haste, Len had lost sight of the mirror leading home, but in that moment he realized they’d circled back—the mirror gilded in ice was right behind Barry and Mick, only just out of range of the destruction. 

While Barry helped Mick to his feet, Len pulled the field back in, worried that one wrong step might destroy their only way home, unless they wanted to plead with Scudder for help. That wasn’t an option unless they’d brought the man to his knees. 

Len turned, scanning for signs of Scudder, when he saw him. Not Scudder— _Henry_. That last push of the Miasma Field had shattered the mirrors behind Len as well, and there Henry sat, tied to his chair amidst the mess. 

Len switched off the Miasma Field and raced to Henry’s side even as he feared another trick, but when his hand came down on Henry’s shoulder, the man didn’t vanish. 

“It’s him!” Len called back to Barry, who had Mick leaning heavily against him from what looked to be several broken ribs. Mick hadn’t been burned though; his clothing had assured that. 

Barry’s eyes were on the mirror home, but at Len’s words his head spun around and he nearly surged forward to reach Len. The only thing stopping him was Mick. 

“Go!” Len called, tucking his gun away and already working at Henry’s bonds. “I’m right behind you.”

Mick couldn’t stand on his own, he needed Barry to take him out of there, and even with Barry’s speed, there wasn’t time for him to save all of them without giving Scudder another window. This was their chance. 

“But Scudder—”

“He’s hurt. Our lives are more important than catching him. Go!”

With one last moment of hesitation, Barry’s pained face was the last thing Len saw before he flashed through the mirror with Mick in tow. 

Len couldn’t risk Barry coming back for him with Scudder still on the warpath; he had to hurry. He untied Henry from the back of the chair then went around to free his arms. Their one reprieve was that the closest mirror was still far enough away that Scudder couldn’t reach them without leaving it. 

“Wish we could have met under better circumstances, Mr. Allen,” Len said, as he expertly undid the bindings on Henry’s left hand before moving to his right. 

Henry wasn’t making any noises, which worried Len, and once he got the last of the ropes undone, the man swayed. Len clung to him more firmly to keep him upright, but his body gave way beneath Len’s hands unnaturally. 

_What the…?_

Scudder appeared in the mirror behind Henry’s chair with fury on his charred and bleeding face. He stepped out of the reflection, holding the jagged piece of glass. 

Knowing he couldn’t risk a moment of indecision, Len pulled Henry’s body down to shield it as Scudder lunged forward and drove the shard down. The sting of the glass driving into Len’s back made him cringe in pain—he’d had worse, _he’d had worse_ ; he had to protect Henry. But as Henry’s body toppled completely onto the black and empty ground, Barry’s jacket fell from covering his face. 

Len gaped in horror. 

It wasn’t Henry. It had _never_ been Henry. 

Everything they’d seen had been an illusion, easily faked for their benefit outside the Mirror Maze, but inside of it, Scudder couldn’t keep up the ruse. That’s why he’d covered Henry’s face with Barry’s jacket. The real form of what they’d seen was what must be the black Flash suit projecting Henry’s body, but without the mask, Len looked upon the face of a mannequin. 

“And you scoffed at my acting skills.” Scudder ripped the shard from Len’s back, and he cried out at the harsh tear of skin and tissue, unable to see how deep the damage went. “I think I pulled off The Flash’s father quite well.”

Len pushed the mannequin away from him, and fought to roll over to get Scudder in his sights. The meta human loomed over him with the bloody end of the shard held aloft—too much blood, too far down the length of it. Len had sheathed his gun. He was on the ground, injured and without backup. 

Still, he seethed at Scudder. “Where is he?”

Scudder grinned manically around his frayed mask and burnt skin. “Nowhere.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotcha. ;-)


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scudder's reign ends in a shower of glass that just might end up destroying everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this one gets...dark, and bloody, so be prepared for some more horrific imagery than usual. 
> 
> I also cried a lot while writing it. 
> 
> But I have returned! And here we are now with the last cliffhanger, I promise, before one, maybe two more chapters ends this fic for good. It will all be up before the shows return, rest assured. 
> 
> And just remember, despite how things close in this chapter...I promised you a happy ending and I will deliver.

Barry gasped from the jolt of returning from the Mirror Maze, nearly losing his careful hold on Mick before he caught his bearings. They’d come out the same mirror they entered from, the very last one leading to the exit out of the trap. Barry pulled Mick into the light of day, passing him to a concerned Lisa and an attentive Caitlin, while everyone else started peppering him with questions. 

“Where’s Lenny?”

“What happened?”

“We only had Heat Wave’s feed after Cold’s goggles broke.” 

“The live footage cut out too.” 

“What—”

“He’s coming,” Barry said, only taking the time to meet Lisa’s eyes amidst the others. “He’s just getting my dad. He’s right behind me.” 

Barry turned back around to face the entrance into the trap. He could see the mirror, the doorway they’d used, clearly. But Len wasn’t coming through it. Barry flashed up to the glass, still outside the fun house, but close enough to reach inside the reflection. His hand sunk into the mirror. 

“It’s still open,” he frowned.

“That means Scudder wants you to go back,” Joe said, close behind him. “Barry…you can’t.”

Barry didn’t answer him. He counted the seconds, still staring at the surface that rippled and then stilled when he pulled his hand away. It shouldn’t be taking this long. Len should be back by now. Barry glanced forlornly over his shoulder at those gathered with him, at Joe, and Iris, and Wally, at his friends. “I have to go back. Len and Dad need me.” 

“Give him more time,” Lisa said, one hand on Mick’s shoulder as Caitlin helped lower him into a sitting position in the back of the van they’d used to transport the mirrors. “Lenny can do this.”

Barry nodded despite his misgivings. In the end he’d still failed; he hadn’t gotten his hands on Scudder, and they were worse off than where they’d started, even if Scudder was burned and hurting. If Barry went back in, Scudder would have even more of an advantage. Barry had to trust that Len could make it out. 

But what if they were wrong, and being in contact with Len wasn’t enough for Henry to come out the same way? What if he needed the mirror _he’d_ been brought through? What if they couldn’t get back?

“The feed’s on again!” Cisco called. 

Barry instantly zipped to his side. “What do you see?”

Cisco turned the tablet toward Barry. The local news channel displayed the familiar scene of mirror after mirror, a few of which were nothing but debris now after the fight, shattered pieces littering the blackness. But there was nothing else in view. “Just the landscape,” Cisco said, quietly, like he wished he could take back calling for Barry at all. 

Len had to be there. Somewhere. Barry’s father had to be there.

“Maybe—”

Someone’s phone went off with a blaring, chiming ringtone, and everyone stopped, looking around for the source, until Joe patted down his pockets and retrieved his cell phone. He stared at it in seeming disbelief. 

“Captain Singh,” Barry said into the comms, “are you calling?”

“Not me,” Singh replied in Barry’s ear.

“No,” Joe shook his head, lifting his eyes to Barry slowly. “It’s the house phone.” As he pressed the answer button and lifted the phone to his ear, Barry was at his side in seconds. “Hello?”

“Finally,” an all too familiar voice sounded loud over the line for Barry to hear. “Where is everyone? I misplaced my phone, figured I’d head in, but didn’t see anyone parked at the Labs or the house. Everything okay, Joe?”

“Dad?” Barry’s voice caught as he uttered the word, knowing instantly that this wasn’t a trick; the trick had already been played, and they’d fallen for it like they’d fallen for everything Scudder threw at them. 

“Henry, stay where you are,” Joe said, “we’re—Barry!” he called out when Barry dashed back to the mirror at the edge of the trap. 

A cavalcade of voices followed him. 

“You can’t!”

“It’s what he wants!”

Even Singh, “Damn it, Allen, don’t do anything stupid!”

But Barry had to. He had to. He looked back at his friends, at his extended family—at Mick, and Lisa, and Hartley too—and steeled his nerves. “I’ll bring him home. I promise.” Then he dashed back into the lion’s den. 

XXXXX

The first thing Barry noticed when he surfaced on the other side of the mirror was the quiet. Had it always been like this inside the mirror world when Scudder wasn’t taunting him? Barry reminded himself that he was being watched again. The whole city had its eyes on him from Scudder’s feed, his friends and family too. Joe would explain to Henry. It would be okay. Barry would not let anyone else be a casualty for him, least of all Len. 

“Scudder!” Barry screamed into the open blackness covered in sparkling mirrors and the occasional jagged edge of broken glass from their attacks. They’d limited the playing field, but there were countless mirrors spanning into the distance. Barry had to stop Scudder once and for all, or this would never end. 

Nothing moved in the stillness. Scudder was baiting him. Barry couldn’t give in, he had to stay calm, he had to…to think like Len. Smart. Careful. Patient. He kept his distance from any single mirror, turning back for only a moment to get his bearings on the mirror Len had covered in ice, which led the way home. Then he fanned out, moving slowly, taking his time as he searched for some sign of where Scudder might be hiding. Glass crunched beneath Barry’s boots as he crossed the open area they’d decimated. 

He saw a chair, and in front of it an unmoving figure that looked to be covered in black. Barry approached it with equal caution, this still form almost like a man, but no…it was something else. When Barry finally reached it, he understood. 

The black Flash suit, The Invisible Man, sans the mask, covered a mannequin. That’s how Scudder had mimicked Henry. In just the reflections, he could fake his face, his voice, but out in the open, he’d had to use Barry’s jacket to hide the ruse. The jacket lay on the ground now, forgotten. 

Barry left it there, but the sprinkle of red on the glass around the chair made him falter. He hoped and prayed that the stains were from Scudder. 

“Len!” he cried. He couldn’t take Scudder by surprise; that wasn’t possible here. But he could avoid being taken by surprise in turn. He backed up from the chair, scanning the nearest mirrors for movement. “I know my father’s safe, you asshole! If you hurt Cold…”

A gurgling cough answered Barry and he whirled around. Behind a mirror not too far away he saw movement near the ground. His instincts were to flash forward, but he made himself take his time, to maneuver around the mirrors in his way giving as wide a berth as he could. 

The sounds the figure made were terrible, pitiful and weak. Barry’s blood ran cold as he drew closer to it. Navy blue. And fur. And the cold gun on the ground. It was Len, alone, coughing into the nonexistent ground beneath him. 

As Barry cleared a set of mirrors to a fuller view, he sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of Len rolling over onto his back, sputtering blood from his lips as he stared upwards unseeing, choking—dying—because of a shard of glass plunged into his chest. Barry trembled as he watched Len convulse, spasm, and start to still…

“No…”

_It isn’t real. It isn’t real, it isn’t real—_

“It isn’t _real_ ,” Barry finished aloud, moving cautiously closer to the figure on the ground, whose head lolled to the side and eyes stared up at him unblinking. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. “It isn’t real!” he screamed, and as the glass around him shook from his bellow, the vision of Len faded like the mirage it was, projected from the perfect formation of mirrors around it. 

Barry choked on a sob in his relief. 

“Getting smarter, Flash?” Scudder’s winded but cruel voice spoke from behind him. 

Barry spun, tense for another trap, ready for any deception, but he couldn’t deny that his resolve faltered when he saw Scudder standing amongst the glass shards, holding Len by the arm with his own cold gun at his temple. 

Len coughed, and his lips did indeed become stained in red, though Barry couldn’t see any wounds. Scudder looked far worse at first glance, so much of his orange and green suit burnt away, leaving behind charred, flaking flesh. He had to be going on pure adrenaline, fueled by insanity to stare Barry down through so much pain. 

“You really do ruin everything, you know that?” Scudder said with a sneer on his melted face. “Even him,” he shook Len, “who used to make this city quake, and now he’s going to die begging because he fell in love with your perfect image and tried his hand at playing hero.” He clucked his tongue like it was all so petty and juvenile. 

Barry clenched his fists and, before he’d fully formed a plan in his mind, he started to spark. 

“You know you’re not fast enough, right? To save him before I fire,” Scudder said, charging the gun with a menacing whir. “You’re not _that_ fast. And if you fail and he dies, what will you have left, Flash, but a broken heart, like so many pieces of glass.” He crunched his boot atop the shards beneath his feet. 

Barry let the sparks surrounding him grow and flicker brighter, charging himself with the Speed Force running hot and vibrant through his veins. Scudder wasn’t an illusion. Not this time. He wasn’t in a mirror. And while there were many mirrors around him, he was still more than a step away from any reflections he could escape into. Moreover…he was standing perfectly aligned in front of the mirror gilded in ice. 

Barry could do this. They were less than six meters apart. He was faster. Fast enough.

Scudder shifted as he pressed the gun harder against Len’s temple. Len coughed again, spitting up more blood, too similar to the awful apparition Barry had seen. It was the only reason Len had been taken down, Barry knew—because he was hurt, badly hurt, barely able to stand, and it was all Barry’s fault. 

_No._ No. It was Scudder’s fault. Barry could only try his best, try his hardest, and that had to be enough. That would be enough. 

“What are you thinking, Flash?” Scudder growled. 

Len, despite looking fatigued and fading, recognized what Barry was doing and straightened his posture with a look of hope in his eyes as he gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

“I’m thinking…” Barry said, sparking brighter, impossible not to notice now, as the arcs of lightning flaring out around him expanded as if he were a lightning rod, “without that belt…you’re nothing.” 

Surprise and fear flashed in Scudder’s eyes for the first time, and Barry felt such pure satisfaction in seeing it. “Clever kid…” Scudder said. “You figured out my secret. So what now? You think you can short it out? You _idiot_. Do you know what that would do!?” Barry leaned back at the sudden roar of anger. Scudder nodded at the belt, so simplistic in its design, that they’d overlooked it time and time again. “You’re grounded in this reality because of this belt. It isn’t only my power that prevents me from getting lost in here. 

“Without this belt, the entire mirror world reforms, implodes. Oh, it’d throw us out of the maze, and we’d be fine—normally—but we’re in the middle of that trap you made for me, remember? When the Mirror Maze goes, so goes the anchor, and right now I’m anchored to your little fun house. That means the second you destroy this belt…we’ll all be cut to ribbons when those mirrors burst from the aftershock.” 

Barry’s charging static dimmed, simmering low as he contemplated what it meant if Scudder was right. 

“You wanna risk that, Flash?” Scudder taunted him—always taunting, always winning, even when he was bloody and breathless. “All your friends, they’ll be fine. But he won’t.” He shook Len again. “He’s not doing so hot already, is he? And that’s just it, isn’t it? Because of your little love affair, you’d do anything to save him. 

“Oh, I think you’d do it if it was just down to you and me—end it all. We both know about that niggling little death wish of yours. Poor me,” he snapped sarcastically, “all alone and hurting, with some of the greatest power this city’s ever known. _What_ a burden.” He rolled his eyes, and Barry saw the pain and fatigue on Len’s face give way to rage...

…before he turned forward again and looked at Barry with nothing more than pleading, not for himself, but for Barry, to not listen, to not take Scudder’s words to heart, but to have faith that they still had a way out of this. 

They did. Barry saw it now, in the angles, in his own sparks, in the distance between him and Scudder. He could calculate it all at a glance, and he’d had more than enough time. He wasn’t only good at his job because he was fast. The mirror leading home was the key, and Scudder had given Barry the perfect setup. 

“But you won’t go out like that with him here, will you?” Scudder said. “So I guess we’re at a standstill, Flash. Tell you what. You leave first, and I’ll send him along after you. We’ll call the day a draw.” 

Len all but scoffed at the absurdity, which Barry didn’t buy for a second either, even if Scudder had tried to veil his words with less venom. He wouldn’t let either of them out of here alive without fighting to his own last breath. But that wasn’t what Barry wanted. Not this time. Not again. 

Not like Sand Demon. Or Atom Smasher. Or even Thawne. Barry had to be a better kind of hero. He had to be what Len and the others believed of him. 

He squared his stance, and let the sparks around him grow again. “That’s your problem, Scudder. That’s everyone’s problem. They think it’s always a choice between A or B. But I see a third option.”

Scudder laughed derisively. “Yeah? What, you kill me and take the belt for yourself, that it? How heroic. But I guess you would think that, since you’d be saving him. A necessary evil.” 

“No,” Barry said, letting the vibrations of the Speed Force fill his voice, causing it to echo around them. “Killing is never necessary. Not unless it’s life or death.” He met Len’s eyes, and saw how their pleading had changed, because Barry would be putting himself at risk again. But he had to. He had to. “Right now it isn’t life or death. It doesn’t have to be. I don’t have to kill you to end this,” he returned his glare to Scudder. 

The sparks jumped off of him like the inside of a plasma globe, and Barry took a step forward. Scudder back peddled, right where Barry needed him to be. 

“Maybe I can save all of us,” Barry said. “Maybe I can’t. But you can’t stop me from trying.” 

“Scarlet,” Len spoke up, his voice rasping but adamant, “what are you doing?”

“What I have to,” Barry looked at Len with all the emotion he had for him burning through the haze of yellow static, through his yellow eyes—not red, never red, “to be better than him. To be _better_.” He readied himself to run, because he only had seconds to get this right. 

“ _Flash_ ,” Scudder snarled.

“I love you, Len.”

“No, wait—”

Barry erupted with his lightning at the same moment he flashed forward, and the world slowed. He watched Scudder shift like moving through deep water, pulling the cold gun from Len’s temple to aim at Barry instead. The end of the gun glowed brightly, that cold, familiar blue, but Barry still spared a moment to look at Len and memorize his face, even if right now it was distraught with panic. 

Barry’s lightning reached Scudder before his hands did, fritzing out the belt moments before he pushed Len and Scudder as hard as he could into the reflection of the mirror leading home. 

Barry tried to follow them, meant to follow them, he was right there, moving faster than he ever had before, but the destruction of the mirror world happened faster. Len and Scudder made it, but Barry...

He’d been so _close_.

Before everything shattered.

XXXXX

“Barry!” Len screamed as he tumbled out of the mirror world like being whipped around in a whirlwind. His breath caught at the sharp jolt left behind from Barry’s discharge of power, like he’d felt only briefly before when touching Barry while thrumming with the Speed Force. 

It wasn’t a simple thud or stumble when Len landed on the other side, but a crash and desperate roll with the screech of metal and glass and a great, terrible implosion following after them. Len ignored the awful pain that ratcheted through his body from the wound in his back, and pushed Scudder away from him from how they landed, as the cold gun unleashed a blast on where the mirror trap had been, but now…

The ice vanished as it struck the swirling mass of broken glass, as if it had been erased from existence. Len kicked the cold gun from Scudder’s hands and lurched to his feet, staring in horror at the tornado of carnage, at the spinning and spinning pieces of glass, as several voices screamed behind him, before it all ended in a snap, and a _crunch_ , and a powerful shock of light. 

When it was over, only a single, solitary figure remained at the center of the destruction—so red. Too red…from the wounds of countless shards speared through his body like some morbid pin cushion made of glass.

“Barry…” Len gasped, unable to move, his body numb as bile surged up in his throat. 

Barry teetered in the aftermath, in the sudden quiet after the implosion that was soon broken by fresh screams. His green eyes blinked, tearing up from the pain Len couldn’t even imagine, when they found him…found Len…and dared to look _happy_ before they dimmed. 

“Barry!” Len howled, racing toward him, blind to the state of his own body and the chill that wracked through his limbs. 

Barry’s knees gave way and he toppled, the renewed crunch nauseating and made all the worse when he fell to his side and onto his back, limp, bloody, and barely recognizable. 

All other traces of glass, of the trap, were gone, what little remained…stabbed through Barry’s body, covering nearly every inch of him in jagged edges. Len blocked out the voices of the others behind him, and dropped beside Barry. He trembled as he reached forward toward a piece of glass through Barry’s face. His eyes were closed now, his chest still, but none of that registered to Len. 

“You’ll be okay…” he said, a hushed whisper, as he gripped the edge of the shard through Barry’s cheek and wrenched it free. He tossed it aside and reached for another. “You’ll be okay. You’ll heal. You always heal.” 

He tore out another piece of glass and another, kept grabbing them and ripping them free, until finally he was able to pull what remained of the cowl back from Barry’s face. The skin looked torn, mangled, but it was still Barry, it was _still Barry_ , he had to survive this. 

“Barry…” Len’s eyes stung and it grew difficult to see, his vision blurred by tears he didn’t have time to shed. His hands ached from the sharpness of the glass cutting into his gloves, but he couldn’t stop. He kept pulling out the glass, freeing it from Barry’s flesh and tossing it away, like that night when he’d cleaned Barry’s hand of shards over his kitchen sink. 

This would be like then. Barry would heal and leave nothing behind, not even a scar, to show what he’d been through. But Len would know. Len would always know about the scars buried deep inside of Barry that no one else got to see. 

“You’ll heal. You’ll heal…”

Len refused to believe that maybe this was what Barry had wanted. That he’d hoped for this, for a martyr’s end, anything to stop the pain he’d been struggling through. 

No…no, Barry had promised him. He swore he’d never… He swore he’d stay, that he’d fight. One good day at a time, just one good day…

“Come on, kid…don’t keep me waiting,” Len said, ignoring the biting of the glass into his bleeding hands as he continued to pull more and more shards free, faster, _faster_ , though it never seemed to be enough or make any difference. “Wake up now, Scarlet… _wake up_.” 

“Snart…” West’s voice called to him from the small, shallow world Len was in, picking glass out of Barry’s skin, out of the suit and torn sinew. “Snart, _stop_.”

A hand landed on Len’s shoulder, but he shook it off. “We have to get the glass out so he heals.”

“Lenny…” It was Lisa’s voice now.

“Snart,” and Caitlin. 

“He’ll _heal_. Help me!” Len cried. He wouldn’t look at them. He wouldn’t stop. Barry was _not_ gone. 

The quiet was too much, broken only by quiet whimpers and tears. Len reached for another piece of glass. He couldn’t have been certain how much time passed, but eventually…someone joined him.

It was West’s son, Wally, who dropped to his knees on Barry’s other side, and started to pull out some of the glass with Len. Len paused and shivered for a moment, before he forced himself to still and nodded at the kid. 

They kept on, piece by piece, until Iris was there too. And Cisco. There wasn’t room for any of the others, but the four of them were enough, shard by shard pulled free, none of them ever in too deep, which gave Len hope that Barry really could survive this. He had to. 

Len had so much blood covering his hands soon that he didn’t know how much was his own, his gloves cut up and torn apart. The others were slower, more careful in their work, but they weathered their own cuts with quiet resolve. The fewer shards remained in Barry, the more Len ached for the kid to move, to breathe, to open his eyes. 

But as the minutes stretched on…he didn’t. 

“It’s not working…” Cisco sniffled back a sob, dropping his hands. 

“He’ll heal,” Len said again. “He’ll _heal_.”

A gentler hand rested on Len’s shoulder where West’s had been. He assumed it was Lisa, but when he glanced up, it was Caitlin, her other arm still in a cast, though she stood vigil to help however she could. 

“Let someone else take your place. Let me check you over. You…” She trailed as her hand smoothed down Len’s back only to pull away. She lifted it and stared at the red smeared across her palm, too dark to have easily seen against the navy of Len’s parka. “Oh my god…”

But that was the moment when Len heard it— _laughter_. Cruel and loud and carefree. Fire burned inside of Len where he could no longer feel the pain of his wounds. 

“ _Snart_ ,” Caitlin said in concern, returning to pull at his jacket, which Len shrugged off uncaringly as he sprang to his feet, swaying only slightly before he stormed away from the limp form of Barry to reach Scudder. “Wait!” Caitlin called after him, gasping when she saw the damage through his sweater. 

Scudder was bookended by Hartley now aiming his gloves, and West backed up and pointing his gun, with Singh ever chiming over the comms that backup was on its way, but Len didn’t care. He descended on the laughing form of Scudder and grabbed him by the burnt remains of his suit. 

“You bastard!” Len reared back and punched him clean across the jaw. Scudder needed to be more unrecognizable—like Barry. He needed to have nothing left of him. So Len punched him again, and though Scudder coughed and sputtered and cringed, he still laughed. 

“Go ahead, Cold…hahahaha…hit me!” he cackled through his manic peels of mirth. “I already won!”

“Shut up!” Len shook Scudder and slammed his head back into the ground, dazing him enough to finally cease that grating laughter. “He was just a kid. Just a sad, lonely kid, and you had to tear him down!” Len punched him again, punched him harder, almost wishing he could also strike himself, because he’d torn Barry down first. 

Len had been part of the problem in the beginning. He’d been a villain that pushed and prodded and whittled Barry down, like all the rest. Because it was fun. Because he’d been selfish and ignorant back then, but now he knew, and he didn’t want that life anymore. He wanted more. He wanted to be more.

“ _Snart_ ,” West called to him, hands on both of Len’s shoulders now, but his voice betrayed his tears, his own fierce anger and grief. He didn’t try hard enough to pull Len off of Scudder, so Len easily shook him away and hit Scudder again. Again. 

“Joe, hold him!” Caitlin yelled. “Look at his back!”

Len’s vision grew hazier with every passing second, his breaths shallower, but none of that mattered. He coughed and spit blood from his lips as he laid into Scudder, panting with every strike, but he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop. 

“Lenny!” Lisa was there again, while Hartley backed away, unsure how to intervene, with his young face looking shocked and frightened by everything that had happened. 

Len would have listened to them, would have cared that they all sounded so distraught for his sake if he could think clearly, but his head throbbed and his thoughts spun, leaving only his rage and the swing of his fist. 

“Snart, please!’

“Lenny!”

Scudder didn’t have any mirrors now, and even if he could find a reflection to slither into, his belt was gone, shorted out and useless. Finally, he was powerless, and Len wanted to revel in that. He wanted to tear the bastard apart, blood for blood. But even before the next voice called out to him to stop, he paused, fist raised and trembling as he registered what he was doing. 

“ _Len_ ,” Mick spoke gruffly—not a yell, just the word, sharp and firm. 

Len looked up, and Mick stood over him like a sentinel despite the way he held his injured ribs. Slowly, Len let his arm fall to the side as Lisa dropped next to him and clung, pleading with him to stop, while Mick looked on with that old expression, so familiar that it made Len ache, because it was the first look he’d ever given him. 

Just two dumb teenagers lost in the world with no hope and no prospects, almost 30 years ago…when Mick first saved Len’s life. He hadn’t looked tough or smug that day, protecting Len from a gaggle of bullies with a knife. He’d looked at Len like he was now, like he simply couldn’t bear to see this skinny kid get beaten down any further. 

Why did Len always have to be the one who got beaten? Why did Barry…?

“Enough now,” Mick said, summing everything up in only a few words like always. “You know this isn’t what the kid would want.” 

“You’re not a killer, Lenny,” Lisa said hushed beside his ear, holding his arm and shoulders, hugging him even as she was careful around his injured back. “Flash didn’t want to cross that line. He didn’t want you to either. Please…please, Lenny, you’re hurt. There’s so much blood…” She sniffed, and only then did Len realize how bad it must be if Lisa was crying. She would have held it together for Barry, but she always cried when she feared for Len. 

“Let me look at you,” Caitlin said, cautious but insistent as she walked over. 

Len felt so tired now. So…exhausted. He gave in and let Scudder fall back to the pavement, barely breathing but alive, which was more than he deserved, but it was what Barry had asked of Len. 

He turned to Lisa and saw his sister’s damp, stricken face. Several hands descended to put pressure on his back and he hissed at the sting of pain.

“You’re in shock. We have to stop the bleeding.” Caitlin’s voice sounded far away, though she was only just behind him, wasn’t she?

Scudder gurgled for breath, trying to get out one more laugh as he clung to consciousness. Len turned to him with a snarl, but even that meager movement made his world spin. 

“The mirror world…is a cosmic…construct,” Scudder wheezed, words muffled by his swollen face. “It’ll reform. It always…exists.”

“But you’ll never reach it again,” Iris said coldly, appearing suddenly from behind Len’s back, having helped put pressure on his wounds, only to be replaced by larger hands—West’s—as Iris crawled up next to Scudder. When he tried again to laugh, she pulled back one of her bloody fists and struck him as hard as Len had, finally knocking him out cold. 

He’d live, but Len still felt satisfaction in his silence.

Len tried to move, tried to turn back to look at Barry. Cisco had stopped picking out the glass again, quietly sobbing as he held Barry’s hand, the one small part of him left untouched by shards. Wally kept on, pulling more pieces from Barry’s body, from his arms and legs like he was mesmerized by the task. 

How were the Wests this strong, Len wondered, with Iris at his side, Joe behind him, helping even as he grieved for Barry, and Wally holding fast, not willing to give up. Maybe they were strong because they were a family. Because they were what a family should be. 

Len hadn’t had that traditionally, but he had it now. He had Lisa. And Mick. And all these others. It just felt so hollow with Barry lying there…

“Lenny!”

Len swayed and couldn’t stop his forward momentum. He was just so tired. He didn’t even feel the pain of impact when his cheek struck the ground. He faced Barry, watching the kid’s closed eyes and still chest, as Wally finally pulled the last piece of glass free.

“Lay him out!” Caitlin ordered. “We have to get his shirt off…stop the bleeding…get him back to the Labs…” but her voice drifted away as she continued to give commands. 

Len couldn’t feel West’s hands anymore. He couldn’t feel anything. 

_Unless it’s life or death_ , he thought, tears filling his eyes one last time, as he looked at Barry’s broken face. He’d kept his promise, he’d let Scudder live, but it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

As Len drifted into unconsciousness only feet from where Barry lay, he could have sworn he saw the kid’s eyes flutter…but he knew it was only wishful thinking. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry lives! (yay)
> 
> Scudder lives! (boo)
> 
> Barry and Len are both questionable! (muwahahaha)
> 
> Oh, how I've missed you all! Please let me know what you think as I gear myself up for the final parts to this!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate isn't always kind, but sometimes it makes exceptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end quite yet. :-)
> 
> Much thanks to LiselleVelvet and her important headcanoning that will make you all squee in several places.
> 
> Thank you all.

Barry was wracked with horrible dreams, each one more terrible than the last. It was as if his subconscious had compiled every taunt and evil ploy Scudder had come up with and played them all before his eyes at once. 

Len betraying him. Rejecting him. Repeating to Barry all the things he often told himself—that he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t good enough, would make everything easier and better for everyone if he just…wasn’t around. 

But those visions didn’t stick like they used to, because Barry no longer believed them. So his mind changed tactics, and he saw Len in the Mirror Maze, coughing up blood, dying on the black, empty ground, only this time it wasn’t an illusion or trick of the reflections. When Barry reached forward, he touched Len and he was real, growing cold so quickly as his eyes stared blankly upward. 

“ _Len_ …”

But it wasn’t only Len who died at Barry’s feet. He saw his family and friends too, all shredded and bleeding and suffering around him, because he hadn’t been able to save them…just like Mom.

The last vision Barry saw was the worst, because it didn’t feel like a nightmare. It was Len, on his stomach, his back torn open with a terrible gash through his sweater, having soaked the fabric clean through with blood, while his eyes slowly closed as he looked at Barry, and a dozen panicked voices rose up in alarm that they had to stop the bleeding.

Barry gasped as he came to, because that last scene had been too vivid, too real, too heartbreaking that he might be left behind after he and Len had come so far together, weathered so much, and loved so deeply in so short a time. Barry wouldn’t say he’d rather be _dead_ if Len disappeared from his life, but he wouldn’t be okay. He wouldn’t be able to just struggle on with only the support of his friends and family and a playful game on his tablet. He didn’t want to mourn anyone anymore.

He knew he had to be stronger than what life threw at him, but sometimes he needed a break. He deserved a break. He’d earned a happy ending, hadn’t he? He’d fought for it. He’d risked everything. But the world didn’t work that way. Some people risked and fought and struggled on…and still lost. He didn’t deserve happiness more than any of them. He just…wished…

He _hoped_ …

“Barry!”

Everything hurt at once, as if his body had waited for him to come to full awareness before it assaulted him with the reality of the wounds he’d sustained. He remembered the glass now, how Scudder hadn’t been wrong—the mirror world had imploded, taking the fun house with it and impaling Barry from every angle. The pain had been excruciating for one long moment before he caught sight of Len…and then faded into darkness. 

Barry groaned as Caitlin and Cisco rushed up on either side of him. He was in the med room, on the hospital bed, covered in tubes and bandages and—oh god, his arms, his chest. It was all he could see of himself, his lower half covered in a blanket, but the top half, what wasn’t bandaged or hooking him up to machines, was a mess of angry, crisscrossed scar tissue. 

“You’re okay,” Caitlin said, a gentle hand coming to rest on his bandaged wrist. 

“You just look like Edward Scissorhands at the moment.”

“ _Cisco_ ,” Caitlin hissed. Her kind, patient eyes turned back to Barry with a warm smile. “You’re healing. The scars will fade. Just relax.”

Easier said than done, since Barry’s healing factor meant he ran through pain meds faster than he could enjoy them, and used up IVs like an entire burn ward even when he wasn’t near death. He barely believed he’d survived so many wounds. The trauma alone…

“Hang in there, Barry,” Caitlin said. “Rest. You’re going to be okay.”

She was giving him something, feeding meds into the IV that was—wow, strong, even almost enough to dull the pain, making his head fuzzy and eyes flutter with the urge to close. Caitlin had perfected her cocktail for treating him, probably filling him with enough…whatever it was to knock out a dinosaur. 

But no, wait! Barry didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want any more nightmares, he just wanted to see, “… _Len_ …” he croaked, hand flailing out toward Cisco, who caught it, squeezed gently, and met his fading gaze…only to lose his smile, looking pinched and sad…before Barry drifted into darkness again. 

The next time Barry awoke, the pain was more manageable. Hours, maybe longer had passed. The lighting was dimmer in the med room now. His depth perception extended farther than just the bed, and he could see both Caitlin and Cisco mulling about in the cortex through the large window, see the Wests huddled together in different chairs beyond the stretch of his feet, all three of them dozing with Joe in the center. And he could see his…

“ _Dad_ ,” Barry squawked in equal excitement and relief as he turned and saw Henry making a quick dart across the room. His father’s hands grasped one of his in both palms, warm and so comforting. Unlike the illusion that Scudder had crafted of a beaten and bloody Henry Allen, this Henry was unmarred, just a little tired. 

“They told me everything,” Henry said, taking a seat in a taller chair next to the bed. “I’m so sorry Scudder used me like that, Barry.” 

Barry squeezed his dad’s hand, happy he had enough strength back to manage. “I’m just glad…it was a lie. That he never had you…that you’re okay.” Barry’s eyes drifted to his bare arms and chest again. The scars were fainter now but still jarring. “All that glass…I must look like something out of a Halloween store.”

Henry huffed a laugh. “You look fine to me, Slugger. At least I didn’t have to see you when it happened. Getting all that glass out of you…I don’t know how Snart and the others managed.” He shook his head. 

Snart…

“Len!” Barry sat up abruptly as he recalled Cisco’s expression, and his terrible dreams, because he was certain now as his mind cleared that those last memories of Len on the ground hadn’t been his imagination. “Where is he?!”

“Barry, calm down.” Henry tried to push him back onto the bed, but Barry fought against him, desperate for an answer. 

“Where is he?! Is he okay?!”

Joe stirred, followed by Iris and Wally, then Caitlin and Cisco ran in from the other room, but Barry didn’t want to be surrounded and gushed over, happy as he was that everyone seemed to be safe. He had to know about Len, he had to know. His father, just like Cisco, looked so crestfallen. 

“Please…please tell me he’s okay,” Barry said, finally giving in to his father’s attempts to lay him down. He felt so weak, dazed from whatever Caitlin had been giving him, or maybe it really was so much damage his body was trying to heal from that it was too tired to fight anymore. 

Henry hushed him as the others encircled the bed, Joe placing a hand on his ankle through the blanket, and Caitlin up close by his head, checking his vitals. None of them would meet his eyes, but Barry couldn’t accept the truth he saw coming, didn’t want to believe that it had all been for nothing, that somehow Scudder had still won. 

“No… _no_ , please…”

“Barry,” Iris took his other hand, that sad, sympathetic look burning through her smile, preparing him for the worst…when she said, “he’s _alive_. He just…won’t wake up.”

“ _Hasn’t_ woken up,” Cisco reiterated, almost like a challenge, not to Iris, but to the fates leading their lives down darker and darker paths. Some of that sadness rekindled as Cisco looked at Barry. “We don’t understand what’s happening to him, Barry, but he’s alive. It just doesn’t make any sense…” He turned his head to look behind him, and it was only then that Barry realized…he’d always been looking down past his feet or to his left. He hadn’t yet taken in the room at his right. 

Caitlin’s hand brushed along his forehead, seemingly satisfied with the readings she was getting before she stepped back, giving Barry a clear view to the other side of the room. 

Len was laid out on another bed, resting on his side facing Barry, eyes closed and breathing steady. Mick sat in a chair against the far wall, awake, but with Lisa half draped across him from how she slouched out of her own chair, still sleeping. Mick nodded to Barry grimly. He looked so tired. They must have both been awake for so long, watching over Len. 

Len looked peaceful somehow. He didn’t have any bruises or cuts that Barry could see, only the familiar scars revealed by his shirt being removed. Then Barry remembered his last vision, how the wound had been on Len’s back. 

“Scudder must have gotten in a lucky shot,” Caitlin said. “The stab wound went deep. The truth is, Barry…he shouldn’t be alive.” Her brows scrunched together in her honesty. “The wound, the internal bleeding, how long he went untreated, how much he aggravated it, how much blood he lost…” 

“But he’s stable?” Barry said, relaxing back since, with Caitlin backed up, he could see Len clearly from where he lay. 

“That’s where the weird comes in,” Cisco said gaugingly. “Snart doesn’t have the meta gene, Barry. We checked. But when he kept hanging on against the odds, we looked at his blood and…”

“And what?”

“There are traces of the Speed Force in his system,” Caitlin said. 

“ _What?_ ” Barry looked at each of his friends in turn. “What do you mean? How is that possible?”

“Whatever you did, Barry,” Iris spoke up, “when you shorted out Scudder’s belt, some of that energy went into Snart. He’s not a meta, but it’s as if…as if it attached itself to his DNA anyway.”

“I can’t believe something like that could happen from just one moment of exposure,” Caitlin shook her head. “Unless there have been other times when Snart was in contact with you while you discharged the Speed Force? Not running with him, but…around you, sparking from your body like in the Mirror Maze?”

Barry’s hazy mind drew a blank, but then he remembered, more than once, a few times during their love making when he had sparked with the Speed Force, eyes yellow, and the hair on Len’s arms standing on end, especially that last night before they faced Scudder. “Yeah…a few times. Not on purpose, but…” Barry trailed, not wanting to explain the truth in front of everyone.

“Multiple exposures could have something to do with it,” Caitlin nodded, “but it’s still…a one in a million chance that it wouldn’t do more harm than good, or do nothing at all. But because of that connection, Barry, however small, his cells have been regenerating. Not as fast as you—”

“He’s healing?” Barry almost sat up again in his excitement. 

Caitlin gently held his shoulders down. “Partially. But it’s been slowing down. We don’t know if it’s enough. He’s stable, but…”

“But he won’t wake up,” Barry repeated, a stillness settling over him, the dull ache of failure mingling with stubborn hope. Len was alive. He was _alive_. There was still a chance. “What about Scudder?”

“Where he belongs,” Joe answered from Barry’s feet. “Infirmary for now while he heals his burns and…well, Snart gave him a hell of a beating when it was over. Once he’s healed enough to make it to the courthouse, there’ll be a hearing, not that it’ll take much to get him in jail with a full trial pending. Everyone in Central saw what he tried to do to you.”

Barry had almost forgotten. Scudder had been broadcasting the fight. He wondered just how much the city had seen. But instead he asked, “The Speed Force…Scudder didn’t…”

“Nothing like what’s happening with Snart,” Cisco assured him. “Maybe because he already is a meta, maybe because it was only the one time for him, who knows, but no Speed Force in his blood, we checked, and he’s healing nice and slow.”

Barry refrained from saying, “ _Good_ ,” despite how knowledge of the man’s discomfort soothed him, as long as he still lived to pay for his crimes the right way. 

“You need to rest, Barry,” Iris patted his hand.

“Yes,” Caitlin said sternly, “you do. By the time you’re able to get out of this bed…I’m sure Snart will open his eyes, and we can really celebrate, okay? In the meantime—”

“Everyone else is fine?” Barry interrupted, as he remembered that their little team was actually quite large these days. “Right?”

“All present and accounted for,” Henry said with a smile. “I’ve met them all. Good folks, every one of them. Captain Singh, Mr. Rathaway, that young woman and her children…”

Barry smiled to hear of Carla and the kids. 

“Michael really wants a visit, Flash,” Lisa’s voice called across the room, groggy but loud enough to catch Barry’s attention. She hadn’t moved off of Mick, but she smiled as she roused from her obviously much needed slumber. “Hurry up and get better so your mug doesn’t scare him too much, and we’ll bring him in to help you and Lenny recover, okay?”

Barry chuckled as he met her eyes, and nodded. “Sounds like a deal.”

The melancholy in the room was palpable, but they hadn’t given up hope yet that Len would wake up. If being in a coma for six months had taught Barry anything, it was that miracles could happen in the strangest of ways. 

“Glad to have you back, man,” Wally said, big blinding smile beaming from beside Henry. 

Even with Len still sleeping, still healing, Barry felt warm and at peace with his extended family around him. “Thank you.” 

Caitlin’s new concoction for Barry worked wonders…for a while, but as he recovered, his metabolism sped up again without having to expend as many excess resources on healing. Soon, like Barry was more accustomed to, he burned through everything too quickly to dull the pain or help him sleep. He found himself staring at the ceiling much of the time. Or at Len. 

They had to roll Len over every so often, from one side to the other, since he couldn’t move on his own. The first time they rolled him away from Barry, the sight of his back made Barry’s breath catch. The scar was gruesome. Deep and jagged and long from however Scudder had torn the glass free. It was to the left of Len’s spine, right over his heart. He really shouldn’t be alive. If the Speed Force was what had saved him, Barry would praise that lightning bolt forever. He just wanted Len to open his eyes. 

Barry eventually slept, and discovered in the morning that it had now been two days since the fight. By day three, his scars were only the faintest grooves, so he asked for a mirror, and only grimaced slightly at the mess of his face. He had a wicked scar through his hairline, but as it healed, the hair was coming back in rapidly, faster than any normal human could manage. He could eat normally too, and finally convinced Caitlin to let him try standing. 

He still ached everywhere, but sitting up on the edge of the bed was only a minor struggle. Standing was harder, but he coped, and padded slowly, barefoot, across the room, to reach Len’s bedside. Barry shivered, wearing only the boxer briefs he’d been changing over the days he spent in bed. 

“I’ll get you something warmer to wear,” Iris said, and left the room. 

Mick stood on the other side of Len, while Lisa came up to Barry and helped guide him closer so he had someone to lean on. It felt so natural to have them both in the Labs. Mick had left from time to time, Hartley and Shawna had come in occasionally, but Lisa only ever went out to the bathroom, or to shower, or to stretch. She always came back, always stayed right there. 

Barry had insisted to Joe, Iris, Wally, and his Dad, even to Cisco, that please, he didn’t need to be watched over every minute. They all had the right to sleep at home, get real rest, and could come back to visit him while still living their lives. But since Lisa was also there for Len, she refused to follow suit. Which meant she and Barry had several long conversations when it was just the two of them, including one around three in the morning that they didn’t finish until the sun came up and Cisco came in with coffee. She’d regaled Barry with the few happy memories she could recall from their childhood, mostly of Len whisking her away for birthdays out of their father’s sight, or to see movies in the projector room of a rundown theater without paying. 

Len faced Mick’s side of the bed, so Barry reached out tentatively to trace his fingers along the new scar. The muscles jumped, twitched from the contact, but nothing they’d done, nothing Caitlin had tried, had made any difference. Len just kept sleeping. 

“I have an idea,” Barry said, as his eyes grew damp watching over Len, seeing how still and vulnerable he looked just lying there. “I don’t think I can do it yet, but…if I’m up to it tomorrow, I want to try.”

“What are you thinking, Barry?” Caitlin asked. 

Barry pulled his hand back, then lifted the other to fold over Lisa’s hand on his arm. He looked at her, and her eyes reminded him so much of Len’s when they were unguarded, just open and honest and so tired of pretending. “What if all he needs…is one more jolt?”

The morning of day four, when Len still hadn’t opened his eyes, Barry didn’t care if he felt weakened, it had to be enough. The others who had been there when he awoke were all present, with Hartley added, peering curiously from the doorway to see what Barry would do. Barry had made them all leave the med room, concerned what his lightning might do if it got out of control, since they still didn’t fully understand what it had done to Len. 

With sock-clad feet, his sweats and grey STAR Labs T-shirt, Barry stood in front of Len and reached one hand around his back to touch the scar, and held the other over his heart. Then…he started to spark. 

He’d shocked others, traveled with people, used his speed and lightning in so many ways. But only Len had ever experienced Barry giving himself over fully as he had when they were together. He’d done the same summoning his lightning to take down Scudder. If that had saved Len, then Barry had to believe that one more try would wake him up. 

He felt the energy course through him, knew his eyes shone yellow, which Len had said so many times that he loved, and as his lightning jolted around him, snapping like static electricity at any nearby metal surface, Barry held his palms to Len’s skin and whispered…

“Please, Len…don’t leave me alone when I’ve only just found you.”

When a gasp broke the collective quiet, Barry gasped too. 

XXXXX

Len choked on the rush of air entering his lungs, not even fully remembering that he had taken a breath. He just knew he felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest, and he didn’t know how to slow it down. He gripped the wrist of the hand held over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of a humming bird’s heartbeat— _Barry_. 

Before Len could look up and see if Barry was really there, a pop reverberated like every lightbulb in the room had exploded, and the room went dark. Had Len imagined it? Was Barry there? The last thing he remembered was all that glass, and Barry lying on the ground, still and bloody. 

“Ba…” he tried to call for him, but his voice caught from how fast his heart was beating, almost like it was trying to synch with the speed of The Flash. 

“Len!” Barry’s voice called to him from out of the dark. 

Maybe Len was dead, and he was being reunited with Barry on the other side. 

Maybe Len was in Hell, and Barry would always remain just out of reach…

Barry’s hand was wrenched from Len’s grasp, and the moment Len was fully out of contact with him, he gasped again as his heart finally started to slow, to even out. He realized how impossible it was that it didn’t hurt, that he wasn’t in any pain, just felt like he’d been shocked and couldn’t come down from the initial jolt of…well, _Barry_. It had to be Barry.

Voices swarmed around him and he tried to focus. New hands replaced Barry’s, smaller, firmer hands, and he was gently rolled onto his back. He readied himself for it to sting like hell…only it didn’t. Scudder had stabbed him; why wasn’t Len’s back sore? He wriggled his toes, just to be sure he could. He wasn’t paralyzed, he could feel all of his body, there just wasn’t any pain. 

Maybe even sad, old thieves got to go to Heaven. 

“Len, open your eyes. Look at me,” Caitlin ordered, using his first name for once. 

Len blinked at the dim blue lighting that started to come on around them—the emergency lights? Was he at STAR Labs? Before he could ask, he caught a brief glimpse of Caitlin’s face and then a shock of brighter light as she flashed a pen light in his eyes. 

“Shit, doc…don’t blind me,” Len gruffed out, his voice hoarse but not as winded as he expected. “Trying to…focus here.”

“ _Lenny_ …oh thank god.” Lisa. She was here too. She was safe. 

“Give me room,” Caitlin said, but Len had to know, had to be sure it wasn’t an illusion. Because Barry had been there, but Barry was dead. Barry was _dead_. If Len was alive…

“Barry…” he called, this time getting the name out, blinking past the spots Caitlin had left behind in his vision, hand reaching out in the direction he thought Barry had been. 

A strong hand gripped his, and in the shadowed lighting, as the spots cleared, Len saw a familiar silhouette, and a big dopey smile. 

While Caitlin continued to protest, Len reached up with his other hand and pulled Barry down until their foreheads touched. He was real. He was there. He was alive. “Scarlet,” Len choked on the emotions threatening to spill out with his words, “don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“ _Me?_ ” Barry balked. “You’re the one who’s been in a coma for days.”

_Days?_

Their foreheads and hands were pried apart, as Caitlin edged in and began to look Len over without the awful pen light. Len could hear Cisco and Hartley as if in the next room arguing over how to get the lights back on. He could hear Lisa half laughing, half crying as she talked hushed with Iris. He could hear Mick’s gentle murmurs. He could hear so many voices distantly, but it was Barry’s he focused on, because he had been so certain, so sure that he’d never see the kid again. 

“I’m fine,” Len insisted when Caitlin kept on well after Len could clearly see and hear everyone, even sit up halfway to look around. “Just dazed, getting my bearings. Nothing even hurts. Ow!”

She’d pinched him. “Just checking,” she shrugged. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Len said again, feeling more and more exposed as he laid there with a throng of people watching him while he was bare-chested, which was a privilege to be earned, not something just anyone got to gawk at. “Can someone get me some clothes?”

“On it!” Cisco cried, and Len got a vision of being dressed to match Barry in his STAR Labs brand sweats, which…didn’t sound entirely terrible. 

Len tried to sit up fully, much to Caitlin’s horror, but as soon as he got to about a forty-five degree angle, he laid back down. The room spun. And he felt nauseous. And okay…maybe his back was a little sore now that his body had caught up with his mind. 

“Take it slow,” Caitlin said. “You’re not healing at Barry speed, just…close to it. You’ll need a few days before you can get out of bed.”

“Close to it?” Len frowned. “What are you talking about?” Barry’s healing was superhuman. Len was merely…average human. Better than average at some things, but not when it came to healing. 

“For once, Lenny,” Lisa said as she sidled up next to him and took his hand, “it’s okay to listen to the voice of authority. Stay in bed. We’ll explain.”

Caitlin crossed her arms with a look that said she was judge, jury, and executioner in this place. 

“Wouldn’t dream of disobeying,” Len said. “Now what’d I miss?”

Len didn’t much care for the chaos that followed. The many faces, much as they were the faces of friends, and…well, people he was still a little surprised he considered friends. Mick gave him an unsympathetic look and said to stop being a lazy ass and get better already, coz he’d been getting bored waiting on Len to wake up. The subtle shift of softness at the end of the phrase was only something Len would notice.

The lights came back on eventually, thanks to Hartley, or Cisco, or some combination of the two, after Cisco brought Len a shirt he could pull over his head—slowly, with Lisa’s help. Apparently, they’d been changing his lower half each day, and he was already in a pair of STAR Labs sweatpants. 

With the lights on though…Len could finally see Barry’s scars, reminders of all the places he’d been skewered with glass. The cuts were already so much lighter than seemed possible after only days, and eventually they’d be gone entirely, just like Len had hoped. 

“How is it you can turn into a shish kabob, and I still end up with a longer recovery?” 

“The universe must like me better,” Barry grinned.

Len laughed. “No arguing that.”

Hearing the how and why of his recovery was a trip, though Len wasn’t surprised to hear about Barry’s last light show, since he’d definitely felt it. 

“Basically, there’s a little bit of Barry in you now,” Cisco said—only to darken to a deep red color the second the words left him. 

“Phrasing,” Hartley muttered. 

Cisco elbowed him. Thankfully, West and Barry’s father were both out of the room. 

“You’re not invincible,” Caitlin explained, “and what Barry did today should not be a regular thing. Your heart can only take so much, but…simply put? Barry probably added about a decade or two to your lifespan.”

Len sputtered a laugh. Then gaped when Caitlin didn’t lose her serious expression at what he’d assumed was a joke. “He _what?_ ”

Barry just smiled at him. “Better keep me company for a long time then.”

Len was still in shock. If they were right then the years between him and Barry had suddenly lessened, been made irrelevant, and Len wasn’t sure how to feel about that, about the chance to relive some of the years he’d wasted. Several decades with Barry didn’t sound half bad, and that within itself was insane, because Len had never wanted to spend so much time with anyone outside of Mick and his sister. 

Speaking of, neither of them was willing to leave him alone once Caitlin deemed him fit enough to be pestered—well, Mick stood back, grumbling to express his distaste for all the mushy affection going on, while Lisa showered Len with said affection. Eventually, Mick was able to pry her away to go get something to eat, take a break, give Len space. And more importantly, give Len and Barry space. 

Len almost wished the hospital beds were larger so Barry could climb in beside him. For now, he sat in the chair at Len’s left, looking tired, and moving like an old man any time he got up, but at least he was healthy, healing, _alive_. 

“I can’t believe Scudder snuck up on you,” Barry said, smoothing his thumb across the back of Len’s hand. 

“He didn’t exactly sneak up on me.”

“Then how did he stab you? The feed cut out, so no one actually saw.”

Len squirmed. “He went for Henry. For that damn mannequin, and I—”

“You got stabbed saving my dad?” Barry gazed at him with far too much adoration. 

“It wasn’t your father—”

“But you thought it was.” God, the way the kid could look at him like he owned the world. Len might never believe he deserved it, but if he said that out loud, Barry would only call him a hypocrite. 

Len had jumped in front of the blow to protect what he thought was an innocent man. That didn’t make him a hero. Whatever did make a hero was wrapped up in the miracle boy before him. 

“Guess you’re a terrible influence,” Len said. 

“Yeah,” Barry laughed. “Guess I am.”

That smile…it was so sad. Not dark, the darkness was dimmed finally—or lightened, Len supposed—but it was still jaded. Len couldn’t shake the moment in the Mirror Maze when Barry had looked at him with resolve and been willing to sacrifice everything just to save him, and to give Scudder justice instead of vengeance. 

“What’s wrong?” Barry asked, lacing his fingers with Len’s. 

Len tightened his hold on the kid. He was still hooked up to the heart monitor, to the IV, to other machines he wasn’t familiar with that filled the moments of quiet with white noise. “I meant it, Barry. Don’t ever scare me like that again. I know you wanted to be better than Scudder, to prove him wrong, to show him…and me…that darkness can be defeated without more darkness. But if you were willing to risk that, and for even one moment… _wanted_ …”

“I didn’t want to die,” Barry said, scooting closer to Len, practically off the edge of his chair. “I didn’t. I tried to follow you. I wanted to save all of us. I just wasn’t fast enough.” His smile twitched. “But I had to risk it. I’d risk it again. I’d risk anything. Not just for you, but for me. For my _mom_. For everyone who believes in me.” His eyes fluttered to the floor. “Maybe I was okay with not surviving…if everything else turned out like I’d fought for. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go. I’d be proud to go out like that. But I didn’t _want_ to.” He flicked his eyes up again, and trapped Len in the depths of his brilliant green. “I wanted to have one more day to live my life better. To see what comes next. To see where this might lead…” He lifted Len’s hand and squeezed it tighter. 

“Barry...I don’t want you to go out that way,” Len said, cursing the dampness in his eyes that came so readily, especially when he could see the same waterworks building in Barry. “I want you to go out old and boring in your bed, you hear me?” 

Barry chuckled, and sniffled, and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. “You did it too, you know? Risked it all to do the right thing. I never would have forgiven you if you’d died a martyr after making sure I survived.”

That was the real miracle, that they’d survived together, both against the odds, and were here now, hands clasped, alone in the med room at STAR Labs, safe. “I suppose we’ll just have to watch each other’s backs a bit better now.” 

“Yeah? Does that mean once we’re well enough, you’ll join me on patrol?”

Cheeky brat. “We’ll see. Might need a night off once in a while.” 

“You mean every six months?” Barry’s voice dropped to veiled annoyance, not fooled for a minute by what Len might mean. 

Len laughed, because this kid…he got him, he understood and always knew how to read him, knew every trick and deception he might throw—but that was just it; Len didn’t want to deceive anymore. That didn’t mean he’d never consider pulling another heist beneath the radar, but if it meant keeping The Flash within his sights, playing by the rules didn’t sound half bad. 

Barry’s expression dropped, giving up any pretense of humor, and as he looked at Len with real tears starting to form, Len’s own mirth crumbled. 

“Barry…?”

“Sometimes…it really scares me, you know?”

“What does?”

“ _Everything_. The future. Tomorrow. How we move on from this. The thought that someone, someday, might try to take you away again. Or threaten my family. Or know how to get inside my head…”

“Barry…” Len reached out and pulled Barry closer, up out of his chair, so he was leaned over the bed, pressing his forehead to Len’s again. “Stop. Just breathe. Remember where you are. You’re safe. For now, you’re safe. We’re all safe. And tomorrow…we’ll deal with what comes at us. And we’ll do it again. And again. And if someone ever gets inside your head like Scudder did, you’ll be stronger, you’ll beat them, because you’re not alone. You’re brilliant. And beautiful. And so easy to love, Scarlet, that anyone who meets you never wants to let you go…”

Barry sobbed, like he was struggling to accept what Len was saying, overwhelmed by the idea that anyone could love him. It just made Len love him more. 

“Lisa, for one, already staked her claim, so good luck getting rid of her.”

Barry choked as he tried to laugh through his crying. Then sniffled harder, laughed harder, and pulled up to look at Len. “And you?”

Len stroked Barry’s cheek. “Good luck getting rid of me either.”

He drew Barry toward him just as the kid leaned forward, and the press of their lips made Len shiver. There was always a little of Barry’s lightning at the end of his nerves. Too much could be a weapon, but the buzz of his skin was purely addictive—almost as addictive as the beat of his heart. 

Len was lost, he knew, now and forever, and that was fine by him. That was just perfect. 

“You don’t have to be okay, Barry,” Len said, repeating a promise from days, weeks past. “Just be here. With me. Be you. And we’ll get through this…whatever comes next.”

“…okay,” Barry said, nodding, lips still hovering close to Len’s. He sighed, like that was all he’d needed to hear, and when he pulled back to sit again on the edge of his chair, his smile didn’t look as sad. 

“Hey, guys, sorry,” Cisco said, entering with a clang of several items in his arms that he set on a table by the door. “Running out of places to put some of this before I catalogue it. Plus, you got about five minutes before Caitlin drags you off for tests in the other room.” He pointed at Barry. 

Barry groaned, using the show of annoyance to turn away and brush the tears from his eyes, not to hide them from Cisco—Cisco saw—but to wipe the slate clean for now, ready to move forward. 

“What’s all that?” Len asked. It looked like a jumbled pile of junk Cisco had scattered over the table. 

“There wasn’t much left after the implosion,” Cisco said, spreading the items out, one by one, including a few larger pieces of rounded glass. “We found some things later that wouldn’t have been native to the mirror world, so must have been expelled like you guys. There were remains of the mannequin,” he held up what Len saw was a plastic hand, “a chair,” the leg of the chair, “and this,” a sparkle of black fabric from—

“The Invisible Man,” Barry said with a frown.

The black Flash suit, he meant. Len sat up straighter. The remains were flimsy, wrecked shreds, but still, it came with a few too many bad memories. 

“I can remake it,” Cisco said, and held up both hands when Len and Barry both began to protest. “Don’t say no, I have good reason for wanting to, but we can talk about that later. There’s one more thing Scudder must have been keeping in the mirror world that I wanted to show you.” He sifted through the pile a little further and finally, from beneath more scraps of the sparkly black fabric, he unwrapped something about the size of a fist that shimmered far more brilliantly than any piece of glass. 

The Coast City Diamond. 

Len marveled at it as Cisco handled the diamond with all the care of a major league pitcher, tossing it into the air once, before coming forward to hand it to Barry. 

“I forgot all about this,” Barry said, cradling the diamond in two hands, in utter contradiction to Cisco. He stared at the way it glittered then held it out to Len. 

Len took it and twisted it against the light. Beautiful. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He’d spent a good many months preparing to steal the damn thing. 

“You can’t keep it,” Barry said suddenly. 

“You’re the one who handed it to me.” Len brought the diamond into his chest like a greedy child, enjoying the momentary pout from Barry and roll of his eyes. “It is technically still missing. No one would ever know…”

“Uhh…” Cisco raised his hand. 

Len shot him an unamused look. 

“Please don’t get arrested the second after you saved the city,” Barry reprimanded. 

“Now you’re just spoiling my fun on purpose,” Len said, but he slowly uncurled his arm and held the diamond out again. He watched it pass from Barry to Cisco and then return to the table with the rest of the ‘debris’. 

It would be so easy to reclaim the diamond at some point. Len was already plotting about five different ways it could go ‘missing’ without anyone being able to pin the blame on him, when Henry Allen appeared in the doorway. He was bigger and broader than Barry, but the resemblance was there, especially in the kindness of their eyes. 

“Dad,” Barry lit up, despite having seen each other plenty the past several days. “Caitlin’s about to steal me away,” he gestured at the doctor through the window, headed their direction. “Did you want—”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to Leonard for a few minutes, if that’s all right. Alone.”

Len stiffened. West had been kind enough to keep the shovel talk to a firm glare and mutual understanding to never discuss the details; Henry obviously had other plans. 

“Uhh…sure,” Barry said, looking down at Len helplessly, before getting up and walking with his sluggish gait to meet Caitlin at the door. Cisco dashed forward to help him, letting him lean against him as he moved. “I’ll, umm…” Barry glanced back at Len before being carted away, “see you soon, Len, okay?” 

Shit. The kid was worried. Len knew that expression. 

He propped himself up a bit better against the pillows behind him as Henry entered, a diplomatic smile on his face. The kindness in his eyes was masked far more easily than Barry could ever manage, with something guarded and unreadable in their depths.

“How can I help you, Mr. Allen?” Len asked. 

“Henry. Please.” Henry took Barry’s seat at Len’s side. “We haven’t had much time to talk, Leonard, just the two of us. Or…Len, is it? If I can call you that?”

Len nodded, didn’t think it wise to say no. 

“Good. We never officially met those times we were both in Iron Heights at the same time, but I remember seeing you. Always with some muscle around. Not because you needed it, more for show I think, a display of power.”

Len shifted restlessly.

“That big friend of yours, Mr. Rory. A few others. But you never used your power against those weaker than you, only those who got in your way, or came at you first. In fact, I remember you breaking up a few fights when the more well-behaved inmates got targeted.”

“No point in everyone getting in trouble for someone not even worth beating down,” Len said.

Henry centered his cryptic expression on Len, still wearing a subtle smile. “Not many career criminals would agree with you, Len. You’re something of an enigma. What I remember of you. What I know from the news. What I’ve learned from Barry.”

“If you’ve come to ask me to stay away from him…” Len honestly didn’t know how to finish that sentence, because he didn’t want to threaten Henry, or snap at him; much as he’d never cared for authority, or father figures specifically, he didn’t want a rift between them when Henry meant so much to Barry. Especially when Len knew how right Henry’s reservations were. 

“I have no intention of asking you to stay away from him.”

“What?” Len focused on Henry again, on his calculating but sympathetic eyes.

Henry smiled wider. “I never doubted my son was a good judge of character. He believed in me all those years when the evidence told a different story. I’d be quite the hypocrite if I didn’t believe him about you. Besides, if you hadn't already, you more than proved how much you care about him during that fight."

“Mr. Allen…”

“ _Henry_. You don’t have to say anything. Any reservations you might have, anything you think you need to say to me, only needs to be said to Barry. This is his life. He can decide what he wants. If that’s you…I won’t be the one telling him to change his mind. That is a difficult task, I can assure you,” he chuckled.

Len felt like his heart was twisting in his chest and coiling up his stomach along with it. Who were these Allens that they believed in people so much, gave goodness the benefit of the doubt in even the most unworthy candidates? Len didn’t deserve it. He really didn’t, yet the words that left him were, “I don’t want him to change his mind.” 

“Good.” Henry reached forward and placed a large hand over Len’s. “Then maybe you can convince him to move some of his things into your apartment.”

“ _What?_ ”

Henry chuckled again as he pulled his hand back. “He’ll recover better there. I know my son. He’ll want to be close to you after all this. Keep you in his sights every second. Once you’re both allowed to leave, let him dote on you a while. For a week, at least. I know he’ll want that, he just doesn’t always know how to ask for what he wants.”

Len had purposely been avoiding thinking about what came next after being laid up in STAR Labs, because it was scary, just as Barry had said. All the unknowns. But Len would be lying if he said he didn’t feel warmed by the thought of Barry being there when he came home. Making dinner for the kid. Curling up on the sofa together. Being normal and domestic while still being them.

“After Barry’s mother died,” Henry’s words brought Len’s attention back to him, “all he ever wanted, ever really needed, was for someone to be there...and I couldn't be, for a long time. I don't want to leave him alone anymore. And neither should you. No one can replace what Joe and Iris have been to him, but...” He sighed heavily, and there were traces of that sadness, maybe even some of the darkness, that existed in Barry. 

Len supposed it was a fool’s errand to try to convince any of these Allen men that their faith was misplaced, but at the same time…he didn’t want to let either of them down. It was an alien feeling, being unconditionally believed in when no one but Lisa had ever…

Len steeled himself, blaming it on the medication in his IV for being so emotional. He nodded once, and instead of denying anything Henry had told him, or trying to sidestep what had been asked of him, he simply said, “Thank you,” for not being treated like the trash he’d feared he was for so much of his life.

When Barry returned later, Henry was still there. They’d moved on to discussing the newest roster for the Central City Diamonds. Apparently Len and Henry were both bigger sports fans than Barry. 

XXXXX

“Flash!” Michael’s bright voice preceded his entrance later that evening. 

Barry moved around much easier now, and Len was almost ready to get out of bed too, if only he could get permission. Caitlin must have told Michael he was allowed to assault them, because he didn’t hesitate to throw himself atop Barry in the chair next to Len, and then attack Len with equal gusto, without causing the physician to flinch or tell him to hold back. 

“Mom wouldn’t let me see the news, but everyone was so worried,” Michael said, pressing his head into Len’s side before he pulled back. It still amazed Len how he could accept such wanton affection from multiple sources in his life, but the age-old grimace didn’t surface when it was Barry, or Michael, or so many of the others. 

“We’re fine now, Mikey,” Len said, patting the boy’s back. He’d managed to get Lisa to go to his apartment and bring some of his own lounge wear for the remainder of his recovery, though naturally she’d found the Flash sleep pants and insisted on bringing them. Michael poked at a lightning bolt teasing out of the blanket. 

Barry stood up to let Michael take the chair between the beds, and Caitlin immediately pushed him into his own bed when he wobbled—albeit only slightly, and possibly only because a ten-year-old had recently been attached to him. 

“I’m almost 100%,” Barry asserted.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Caitlin said. “Both of you need to stay in bed until I give the okay. Enough getting up and moving around without permission. You’re only a few feet away from each other.”

Barry pouted dramatically, and Carla laughed from the doorway, where she held a very alert baby Mai. She was growing so fast already. 

“Michael,” Caitlin said with an authority that made the boy straighten like he’d been called on by his teacher, “I’m putting you in charge of making sure they both stay in bed. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss Caitlin,” he said dutifully. 

Barry’s troubled expression told Len that they were going to have a much harder time skirting the rules now. Len couldn’t help it that he was getting restless, and Barry was far worse than he was. Kid buzzed with the need for physically activity when he did get to run, but after being mostly bed-ridden for days, he was ready to scale the walls. They just wanted to be close to each other while they recovered, until they could, well… _be close to each other_ again.

They caught up with Carla for a while, and Shawna soon joined them as well, both giving Len updates on how the neighborhood was faring without him. Everyone had seen the news, of course, so there was no pretending that Captain Cold hadn’t been there to back up The Flash against a far worse threat. Worse, though, was that despite Scudder having started to broadcast their fight late enough that there were no vocalizations of Barry’s real name, the entire city had heard The Flash say, “I love you, Len,” before the feed cut out for good. 

If the people of Len’s neighborhood hadn’t suspected earlier, they definitely knew Barry was The Flash now. Shawna insisted that everyone was being cool about it, mostly pretending they didn’t know a thing; no one running to the tabloids or anything, not that Len would have worried. 

“Mrs. Pak swears she knew from the second she met you, Barry,” Carla smiled. 

“Probably true.” Len shot Barry a look. “You are the literal worst at keeping your identity secret, Scarlet. But a handful of additional trustworthy people shouldn’t make too much of a difference. Though they’ll likely fawn over you even more now.” Len would have groaned at the thought if he was the one who’d receive the attention, but Barry merely ducked his head and smiled, happy that anyone would care enough to fawn over him. 

Michael insisted on staying as long as his mother would allow, which meant that Len and Barry were eventually left alone with the boy, hearing all about his first week at school, and how difficult it was not to share with the class that he knew The Flash and Captain Cold personally. 

“I promise I won’t ever say anything! It’s just so cool. But it’s my secret that nobody else gets to know.”

Aside from the neighborhood, everyone at STAR Labs, several people in Star City apparently, and possibly a few others, Len though with a snort. 

“Hey, Michael,” Barry said, “can I swap you for the chair? I need to stretch my legs for a while.”

Michael adamantly shook his head. “Nah uh. Miss Caitlin said you can’t get up until she says so.” 

“But I’m fine!” Barry whined as if he was the ten-year-old. “See? I heal really fast. My scars are almost gone.”

Michael eyed Barry’s held out arm skeptically, the healing skin visible from the elbow down. 

“He’s lying, Mikey,” Len said with a smirk. “He’s still on the mend. Just looking for an excuse to get closer, is all, coz he worries too much.” Len smiled wider when Barry pouted again. It was true though, he was sure of it. 

“Well…” Michael said, kicking his feet back and forth as he looked at them both. “You don’t hafta be apart, right? If you promise to stay in bed so Miss Caitlin doesn’t yell at me…I can help you push the beds together.”

Len’s life was filled with kids who were far too naïve and sweet for their own good. But as he and Barry snickered and shook their heads at Michael, they caught each other’s eyes from across the room and…contemplated the offer.

Later, what woke Len was the flash of a camera phone. He peeked his eyes open from where he lay, turned toward Barry’s side of their joined beds, with one arm draped over Michael sandwiched between them. They’d only let him crawl up there because he complained the chair was too far away with the beds connected. They hadn’t meant to fall asleep. 

Len glared at the sight of Iris holding her phone out, while Carla looked on with a wide smile, and even West was grinning, though it might have had more to do with cradling baby Mai in his arms. 

Len decided to ignore them all and settled back to sleep. He could threaten them for a copy of the photo later.

XXXXX

All Barry wanted to do was run. Not away from anything, not anymore. Just run, to feel his legs pumping and the thrum of his powers. He was finally out of bed for good, and so was Len, though Len moved a little slower as his recovery would take longer. Still, to look at either of them, no one would ever guess what they’d gone through a week ago. 

Barry was looking forward to taking Len out. Bringing him home and then taking him somewhere nice—or maybe just Saints and Sinners, since anywhere else, if people recognized Len, they might recognize Barry too, or assume Captain Cold was cheating on The Flash. 

The public were having way too much fun with speculative news stories about their affair, though at least it all mostly had a positive spin to it, considering the city was on their side after Scudder threatened The Flash’s father—face obscured before the feed went live, thankfully—and with how they’d fought side by side. 

Iris was no help either. Her article had been the first one printed.

“No point in denying it, Barr. If the public already knows about you two, better to give them something to root for.”

“What about Mrs. Pak’s?” Barry said, as Len finished slipping on his leather jacket. “Do you think she’d make us some bulgogi for lunch if she’s not too busy?”

Len chuckled. “I think she’d be offended if we went anywhere else. Bulgogi it is.”

Barry hummed at the thought. They’d been treated well during their recovery, with meals brought in from Carla, and Rob, and even Mick once—he made a very delicious, very potent chili—but Barry was stir-crazy. 

“There’s something else, Scarlet, once we’re at my place. Something I need to ask you.” Len glanced away, insecurity flashing through his eyes that Barry rarely caught sight of, but he was getting better at reading Len’s tells.

“Hey…I know Iris and Lisa moved some of my stuff over.” Barry stepped up to Len with a bashful smile. “If it freaks you out, I don’t have to stay. Everything’s been happening so fast—”

“It’s not that,” Len broke in, meeting Barry’s gaze with sudden, heartfelt affection that made Barry’s breath catch. “It’s not that at all. I wanted to ask—”

“Glad to see you’re both out of bed,” Captain Singh appeared, dressed as though he’d stopped in directly from work. Rob waved at them from over Singh’s shoulder. 

Damn it. Normally, Barry would be happy to see them both, glad for any visitors to help quell how dull it could be being cooped up. But not when Len was about to tell him something important!

“Hey, Captain! Rob,” Barry smiled regardless. “We were just on our way to grab some lunch. I cannot wait to get out of here. And we still can’t thank you enough for securing those pardons from the mayor.” He turned earnest eyes on the captain. Singh had talked about it, but he’d actually pulled through, not only for Len, but for Mick, Lisa, Hartley, and Shawna for the parts they’d each played in taking Scudder down. 

“Keeping our streets safer is always the priority, Allen,” Singh nodded before casting a scrutinizing eye on Len. “And with Snart, I like it better when I know what he’s up to.”

Len brought a hand to his chest. “Such heartfelt affection, Captain?”

“He means it’s nice to have you on the team, Len,” Rob said. 

Singh pursed his lips as if put out by his husband, but he didn’t contradict him. “That aside, I’m afraid I have to interrupt your lunch date, gentlemen.”

Len and Barry walked up to Singh and Rob at the door. “Something wrong?” Len asked.

“Scudder’s out of the infirmary,” Rob said. “They’re going to speed things along to move up his hearing for later today.” 

“So what’s the problem?” Barry frowned. 

“The judge wants either The Flash or Captain Cold to testify,” Singh said, then assured them when they exchanged startled glances, “With immunity, whatever you decide. But that’s not the problem. I know the circle of people privy to your identity has widened lately, Allen, but keeping your real name a secret still takes precedence. And right now Scudder is telling everyone who will listen…that The Flash is Barry Allen.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!
> 
> Let me know what you think as we near the actual, final end of this monster. 
> 
> I am so excited for how they stick it to Scudder. I'm taking a cue from the Batman animated series. Any guesses for how they can 'prove' Barry isn't The Flash?


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scudder faces his hearing, and Barry and Len face the next chapter in the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's later than I expected, and I am eager to post, so I'll just say...wow. I've been in fandom a long time, and while I've had a few remarkable experiences, nothing quite compares to this. To this fandom, and this particular fic, because it's so personal, and so...wrenching at times, and now it really feels like something I can turn into an original story that I will be prouder of than anything before it. I'm proud of this...so much, and a large part of that is all because of you. 
> 
> Thank you, Joe-Neal, for giving me this amazing prompt that carried us on this journey. 
> 
> Thank you, LiselleVelvet, for many, many headcanon sessions that pushed this fic over the edge. 
> 
> Thank you, readers, for every comment that spurred me on further. 
> 
> I hope the conclusion to this journey makes you all as happy as I have felt writing it all for you. 
> 
> Oh and I totally stole likes-to-icicle's name for a joke, because I couldn’t resist, it is too hilarious.
> 
> (Also, I'm only on episode 4 of Supergirl, but since some of you mentioned it, I'm assuming something similar happens, but I was totally thinking of this one Batman The Animated series episode, and...well...)

“So it’s your professional opinion, Doctor Snow, that the defendant’s mental state has been altered?” the district attorney asked. 

“More than my professional opinion—it’s fact,” Caitlin said, nodding to the slide displayed on the projector. She sat on the stand poised and professional in a light grey suit coat and skirt. “As you can see with the image on the left, the brain doesn’t display any abnormalities. Mr. Scudder chose to have a brain scan only a few months before the Particle Accelerator explosion that caused the outbreak of meta humans. I can only speculate at his reasoning for requesting the scan, but I assume it to have something to do with his research into the mirror world. 

“The image on the right, however, shows his current brain scan. There is significant damage to the prefrontal cortex. Whether in Mr. Scudder’s case this was caused by the activation of his meta gene, or a byproduct of his time in the mirror world is unclear, but it does explain his increasingly aggressive behavior since the first scan.”

“Do you believe then, Dr. Snow,” the DA continued, “that the defendant is unfit to stand trial?”

“Absolutely not,” Caitlin answered the woman firmly. “While the damage can be used to explain his behavior from a relatively well-behaved member of society to his outbreak of criminal activity, it is my medical opinion that he is fully aware of what he has done, what is happening, and feels no remorse for the pain he’s caused to this city or its people.”

Barry’s thoughts drifted in the throng of additional questions and the murmurs from people in the courtroom. He’d never felt so exposed amidst a crowd, not even on Flash Day. Everyone’s eyes were on him as much as they were on Caitlin, or any of the evidence being brought to light, seated at the DA’s table as he was in full Flash suit, waiting for his turn to speak. 

The defense attorney had hoped to get the case dismissed outright due to Scudder being half-cracked, and while Barry believed the man to be truly, deeply psychotic, he was fit to stand trial and deserved whatever punishment a jury of his peers deemed fitting. He knew what he had done, and Barry and the others were confident that Caitlin’s testimony would prove that, and the hearing would not be where this ended. 

There was enough evidence. The whole city had seen the footage of their last fight. But footage could be doctored, especially from Scudder. So Cisco, as the civilian liaison to the meta human task force and an authority on all things tech, had taken the stand first to explain Scudder’s unique abilities and how he’d used his now destroyed belt. But the judge still wanted something more to prove this case was ready to go to trial—a real witness. 

In any other city, a masked vigilante would never fit that bill, but in Central…these people believed in The Flash and were willing to listen to him without asking him to remove his cowl. 

Barry took the stand at normal speed when he was called, which was always a bit awkward—walking in the Flash suit, especially with dozens of eyes on him. It would be such a disaster if he tripped. 

Once he was seated, he could see the whole of the courtroom. Scudder, scarred and bandaged still, next to his attorney, with the DA on the other side, along with visiting Assistant DA Laurel Lance from Star City behind the partition, beside a stone-faced Oliver Queen, John Diggle, and Felicity Smoak. Urg. 

Barry pointedly kept his eyes away from his friends on Team Arrow. They’d been filled in, but Barry was not looking forward to Oliver demanding the finer details to the ‘in love with Leonard Snart’ portion of the tale. Barry was acting as an anonymous witness, just...in person. They’d played it out that Barry had revealed his identity in private to Captain Singh and Laurel Lance as impartial representatives of the law.

The DA approached Barry first. They’d rehearsed this as best they could before the hearing. Barry knew what questions she’d ask, knew several of the likely questions the defense would throw at him as well, but it still rattled him, the way Scudder grinned from his seat as he looked at Barry. Barry wished he had Len’s face to seek out in the crowd to help calm him, but as that wasn’t an option right now, he looked instead to Iris. She smiled, and he felt his confidence pick up again. 

Detailing out the times Barry had seen Scudder commit a crime was easy. There were several cases still open that would soon be pinned on him as well, bringing up the counts against Scudder to several cases of robbery, assault, destruction of property, attempted murder, and kidnapping. 

“But, as you yourself just testified, Flash, the defendant didn’t in fact kidnap your father,” the DA said, “it was a decoy made to look real with his abilities?”

“That’s correct,” Barry said, “but the kidnapping charge isn’t for my father. It’s for me.” A slight murmur flitted through the courtroom. “Before the incident last week that all of you witnessed on TV, Scudder had…taken me and held me prisoner while he used his tech to masquerade as The Flash around the city. Captain Singh already testified to those reports that the businesses chose not to make public because they knew I wasn’t the one who’d robbed them—it was Scudder.”

The DA had a few more questions that Barry dutifully answered, and then it was the defending attorney’s turn. He was a severe man, but he didn’t seem cruel or biting on purpose. He was merely doing his job. Barry tried to remind himself of that when the blows came early. 

“Tell me, Mr.…Flash. Why should we trust anything you say when you won’t even grant this court the privilege of seeing your face?”

Barry took a breath. “Anonymous witnesses aren’t unheard of, councilor. Truth is, I’d gladly reveal my identity today, but I already know what happens when the wrong people know my face. They threaten my family.” He cast a cold gaze on Scudder. “I’m just lucky that this time, it was an illusion.”

The attorney nodded calculatingly. “You believe my client kidnapped you, attempted to murder you and several others, but if abducting your father turned out to be an illusion, isn’t it possible that the rest was an illusion too? Maybe a delusion of yours, Flash, and we’re simply dealing with a sick man whose abilities revolve around building impressive fantasies.”

Barry clenched his fists. “Scudder—”

“Forgive me for being skeptical, Flash, this city owes you many debts, but we are talking about a man’s life here, and your own personal vendettas aren’t how we decide that.” He paced across the courtroom. “You seem to have a lot of pull in this city. Captain Singh convinced the mayor to give your…acquaintance, Leonard Snart, a pardon, after all, and immunity if he testified today. Yet he’s not here, just you.”

“Mr. Snart is still recovering from—”

“Mr. Snart, is it? I thought to you it was ‘Len’.”

Barry bristled, struggling to keep his temper in check, even though he’d expected this. “You don’t have to play that game, councilor. I won’t deny what I said on that video. Everything the public saw was the truth. I was there—”

“Everything was the truth? You just said that your father was a decoy. Maybe my client isn’t the only one impaired from the ordeal.” He approached Barry on the stand, meeting his gaze steadily. “How’s your mental state these days, Flash? All the things you believe my client did to you, it’s a lot for someone to go through. Dr. Snow testified that it’s possible my client’s actions were influenced by his time in the mirror world. You claim to have spent significant time there as well. Isn’t it possible that your judgement is compromised?”

Barry smiled. This question he was prepared for. “If you’ll recall, Dr. Snow said that Scudder was still fully aware of his actions and fit to stand trial. Even if my judgement has been compromised, I didn’t spend nearly as much time in the mirror world as he did. I know what I saw. Scudder manipulated me with an image of my father, but I watched the footage he broadcast to the city. Everything else that was shown is what I saw with my own eyes.

“Scudder is not sorry for what he’s done,” Barry pressed on, turning his attention to the Mirror Master himself and refusing to be intimidated by his smug smirk, “and he’s not some lunatic who doesn’t know any better. He’s cruel, damaged maybe, but he committed these crimes and he needs to answer for them.”

“So you believe criminals should be punished when they do wrong?”

Barry was prepared for this line of questioning too. “Most of the time, I do. But if someone can be rehabilitated, that is always preferable to them rotting in jail. Some people might not agree with me on that, I’m just glad our mayor does.”

“You’re speaking of Leonard Snart again.”

“I am. If it hadn’t been for Len, Scudder would either still be at large, or he’d be facing actual murder charges right now. Mine. I wouldn’t have been able to face Scudder without Len’s help. Without all of the Rogues the mayor pardoned.”

“Some think that alone should get this case thrown out.” The defending attorney pivoted to face the people seated in the courtroom. He spread his arms, “Vigilante justice,” and then turned back to Barry. “My client did spend the past week in recovery because of what your new friends helped do to him.”

“And when this goes to trial, a jury can decide if the force used was excessive,” Barry said resolutely, “but I’ll gladly testify right here and now that it wasn’t. Scudder is more than just a threat to this city, he’s more than just a thief—he’s a terrorist. The mayor agrees to let me do my job because the meta human task force isn’t always enough to catch these people who aren’t willing to use their powers responsibly. That doesn’t set me above the law. I do what I have to, to bring these people to justice, where a judge can decide if someone like Scudder goes to trial, and a jury can decide what happens to him from there. 

“If I wanted to dish out vigilante justice,” Barry leaned forward and looked out at the people watching, some his friends, many strangers, “I wouldn’t have let Scudder live after what he did to me. But if I gave in to that, I’d be just like him. 

“You don’t have to like me, or agree with me, or approve of what I do.” Barry fixed the attorney with his stare. “Drag my name through the mud as uncredible all you want, because of what I am, and what I do, and my involvement with Leonard Snart. But on top of all of the other evidence, I witnessed Sam Scudder commit—”

“You think you’re better than me?” Scudder sprang to his feet, a deranged grin on his face. “Because you lived, you think you won?”

“Your honor, my client—” the defending attorney tried to talk over Scudder.

“I don’t care about saving myself,” Scudder scoffed, holding Barry in his sights, “just so long as you go down with me… _Flash_. You gave him immunity for this,” he turned to the judge, while his attorney rushed to the table trying to hush him, “but that won’t save him from every villain in this city knowing that his real name is _Barry Allen_.”

There were a few gasps that arose before a hush fell over the courtroom, several people even pulling out their phones to Google who ‘Barry Allen’ might be…when a lone voice spoke up.

“You mean me?”

A rumble of murmurs erupted once more as a man who in every way that mattered was _Barry Allen_ stood up from where he’d been sitting between Iris and Joe at the back of the room. Scudder whirled around to face him; Barry could only imagine what his expression looked like.

“I’m afraid I have nothing to say on Mr. Allen’s behalf,” Barry called out to the room, “other than he clearly isn’t me.”

A tittering of laughter resounded through the aisles. 

The man that was and was not Barry Allen remained standing, wearing Barry’s own navy trench coat, and a button down shirt and sweater. He smiled confidently—maybe a little too confidently if someone knew the real Barry Allen—as the people in the courtroom took him in, and Scudder started muttering. 

“No… No, that’s not right… You can’t be…”

“If it helps, your honor,” the DA said, “I’d be happy to call Mr. Allen to the stand. He did express his willingness to testify as lead CSI on the cases against the defendant. Maybe we should have him explain how Mr. Scudder tried to blackmail him at the precinct, inciting a faulty IA investigation because of his findings on the initial cases he is a prime suspect in.” She smiled sickly sweet over at Scudder, whose attorney was trying to get him to sit down. “Seems you have quite a bit of motive to point the spotlight on Mr. Allen and get him killed by claiming he’s The Flash.” 

“It’s a trick!” Scudder pushed his attorney away from him, causing the bailiff to jerk forward. “It has to be a trick! _He’s_ Barry Allen!” he pointed wildly at Barry on the stand.

The knock of the judge’s gavel brought the buzzing courtroom to sudden silence. “I’ve heard enough, Mr. Scudder. Councilors. Flash, I thank you for your testimony. You may return to your seat...at your own speed.”

Barry smiled as he looked up at the judge and nodded. In the length of time it took the judge to look forward again, Barry had flashed back beside the DA and looked on diligently for what the judge would say next. The other Barry sat down as well. 

“While you are bordering on being in contempt of this court, Mr. Scudder,” the judge’s voice resonated to fill the room, “you are clearly aware of what you have done and I deem that you are indeed fit to stand trial. I also find that there is more than enough evidence to extend this hearing to a full trial immediately, where you can make every effort to disprove the numerous charges against you. Good luck,” he nodded to Scudder sharply. “Thank you, councilors. You are dismissed. Bailiff, please take Mr. Scudder into custody.”

“No! He’s lying! It’s a lie! He is Barry Allen!” Scudder backed up against the partition, ready to fight, but the bailiff was on him in moments, a large, imposing man who was able to take hold of Scudder without struggle. He cuffed him roughly, and only because Scudder was still wounded and healing many of his burns and bruises did he sag into the guard’s clutches. 

The courtroom erupted with noise as the judge stepped down to leave the room. Barry thanked the DA and shook her hand, passing a momentary smile at Oliver and the others behind him, before he moved toward Scudder being carted away by the bailiff. The other Barry came down the aisle through the throng of people to join him. The bailiff held Scudder still a moment in the presence of The Flash. 

“Cute trick,” Scudder spat at Barry, “but I know the truth. One of you isn’t who you appear to be.” He flicked his mad glare onto the other Barry as he came up to stand next to his doppelganger in red. 

“I can assure you, we are,” Barry said, but he couldn’t help the bitter jolt of lightning that flickered up his arm. 

Scudder flinched and scowled at the static before turning to Other Barry knowingly. “So you’re the imposter.” 

“Don’t know what you mean, Scudder…” Other Barry said, while the bailiff turned his head as if disinterested in the discussion, “but looks like we beat you. You didn’t accomplish anything in the end. We’re safe, and alive, and the city knows you as nothing but a failure. At least you got a prettier face out of the deal.” He winked. 

Barry refrained from elbowing his twin in the side. If he wasn’t careful, that smirk would give him away—and damn was it weird hearing that tone and seeing that expression on Barry’s face.

“All right, Scudder,” the bailiff said, “that’s all the chitchat you get.” He started to drag him out of the courtroom as it emptied further. 

“You think your meta wing can hold me?!” Scudder struggled in vain, his smugness gone now, as he called out in desperation for some sense of the upper hand he’d lost. 

Captain Singh stepped forward from where he’d been waiting by the door. “Eventually. But you’re not going to Iron Heights today, Scudder. We’re sending you to Gotham first. Already signed the paperwork, thanks to Snow’s testimony. They got a place there that knows how to handle sick minds like yours.”

“ _Gotham?_ ” Scudder fought harder, trying to twist around to look at Singh as he was led away. “You can’t send me to that place! I know your secret, Flash! I’ll always know!”

“See you at trial, Scudder!” Singh called after him. He turned back around to approach Barry and…Barry, while the few remaining people in the room crowded around them as well—Team Arrow and Team Flash, though without any of the Rogues, it felt like they were missing people. 

Well…without most of the Rogues.

“Break’s over,” Singh snapped his fingers in Other Barry’s face. “Get back to work…Allen.” He leaned in close and hissed, “And get that thing off. Creeps me out.” Singh leaned back with the faint twitch of a smile. 

Other Barry merely offered that smirk again. 

“We’ll chat at the Labs later,” Oliver said to both Barrys, very much not a question. Barry rolled his eyes, while Iris snickered, and Joe tugged on Other Barry’s jacket for them to get a move on. 

“See you around, Mr. Allen.” Barry grinned at his double. 

Even with the black Flash suit on, and a copy of Scudder’s belt projecting Barry’s image and voice flawlessly, Barry could have sworn for a moment that the man’s green eyes looked…blue. “See you around, Flash.”

XXXXX

Len sucked in a breath after tearing the black mask from his face, safely hidden in the back of West’s car on the way to the precinct. He didn’t mind Iris, Caitlin, Cisco, or any of the other Team Flash members. In fact, he might just admit that he liked them all, West included. Team Arrow, on the other hand… He could still feel the heat of Queen’s stare. 

Len had already turned off the belt, leaving him in just the sleek black suit, with the actual clothes he’d been projecting folded neatly in a bag on the floor for Barry to change into. Scudder couldn’t possibly have guessed that with Cisco and Hartley working together, they’d been able to recreate The Invisible Man and replicate his belt technology during the short week Barry and Len spent resting.

“ETA?” Len called to Joe in the driver’s seat. 

“’Bout now, I’d imagine,” Joe said, and as if on cue, a flash of yellow and red preceded the presence of Barry sitting beside Len in the back of the car. Another flash, and Barry was dressed in the clothes from the bag, the Flash suit replacing it, as he now looked exactly like the Barry Allen from the courtroom. 

Len sat back and marveled at the kid, as he tugged the black gloves from his hands. He was the closest of their companions to Barry’s same height and build, so it had just made sense that he be the one to wear the suit, so Barry could play his part as The Flash. Plus, Len hadn’t wanted to leave Barry alone in a room with Scudder ever again. 

Barry turned a sunny smile on Len, which quickly shifted into an unapologetic leer as he drifted his gaze down Len’s body in the form-fitting suit. 

“Thought you hated this thing,” Len raised an eyebrow at him. 

Barry shrugged, eyes remaining trained on Len from the neck down. “You usually wear a _parka_.”

Len chuckled. He supposed he didn’t look half-bad with every curve hugged tight, and since it still covered him from head to toe, it wasn’t the worst thing he could imagine wearing. 

He allowed the kid to ogle him unabashedly, because it gave him the opportunity to closely observe Barry in return. Len didn’t think he’d ever seen the kid so unencumbered by life and loss and pain. He’d seen him happy, content, in stitches as he laughed so hard he couldn’t stop for minutes on end, but this was different. This was weeks of collected tension having sloughed from his shoulders, and Scudder wasn’t even put away for good yet. Somehow the hearing had seemed so much more important than what came next, weeks, maybe even months from now. Like a first step down a brand new road, with twists and turns, sure, but fewer landslides. 

Len vowed a silent promise that he’d make sure that stayed true. Neither Scudder nor any other villain would ever bring Barry that low again, himself included. 

“What?” Barry blinked when he finally met Len’s stare, a bashful grin teasing at his lips. How this kid could be machismo incarnate one moment and an innocent blushing boy the next, Len would never know, but he’d sure as hell enjoy every second he had with him. 

“Something on your face,” Len said.

“Really?” Barry brought a hand to touch the corner of his mouth, wondering if he had a stray crumb.

Len gripped the kid’s raised wrist and used the leverage to pull it down and pull Barry in at the same time, kissing him soundly with a firm press and slip of his tongue. Barry tasted the way a summer storm smelled.

“See. Something on your face,” Len repeated quietly. 

Barry giggled. 

“You two behaving back there?” Joe called, though his gruff tone betrayed his amusement with them, which Len would maybe never get used to. 

“No more or less than usual, Joe!” Barry called back. 

The detective chuckled and shook his head.

They were almost at the precinct now, where Joe would drop Barry off for any watching public to witness, and then bring Len back to STAR Labs. Caitlin had insisted on a few more checks before she let Len go home for good, and he had a few things to grab—like decent clothes. 

Barry’s hand found Len’s and laced their fingers together between them on the seat.

“You know you’re probably not gonna be able to keep your identity secret forever,” Len said. They’d discussed simply coming clean to thwart Scudder, taking the risk and letting the public know the truth.

“I know,” Barry said somberly. “But until there’s no other choice, I want to keep my family as safe as I can. They’ll always be at risk because of me,” he said quieter, maybe to avoid Joe overhearing, but when Len squeezed his hand tightly, Barry met his eyes again. “Because of bad people who can’t stand the good I do, I know. But still. Whatever I can do to keep the people I love safe…” 

“I get it,” Len said. “One day at a time, right?”

“Right.”

“We’re here,” Joe said, shifting into NEUTRAL with a soft jolt of the car. “You’ll see Len later, kiddo.” 

Len stiffened; even West called him ‘Len’ now. He supposed it was about time he started thinking of the man as Joe. 

Barry darted forward to peck Len on the cheek goodbye, but Len hung onto his hand before he could open the door and slip away. 

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

There were mere inches between them, tan and paler skin intertwining as Len clung to Barry’s hand, with so many potent emotions shining back at Len from the younger man’s eyes. Len felt like he could read their entire history over the past couple of months—even further back than that—in Barry’s beautiful green gaze. 

Anger, pain, sadness; followed by passion, forgiveness, and eventually even…love. Len had only ever known so many varied emotions from someone close to him when it was Lisa or Mick—his family. He’d never believed he could open up that small circle wide enough for new faces. Never believed anyone but Mick and Lisa could be at the center of his heart as deeply as Barry occupied it now. 

Len didn’t care that Joe was only a few feet away from them when he said, “Move in with me.”

“What?” Barry’s eyes widened, then played out an array of differing emotions, ending in what Len had to assume was happiness if the way the kid jerked forward and kissed him was any indication. Len’s breath was stolen in the firm connection of Barry’s lips. 

“That a yes?” Len gasped when they disconnected.

“Yes,” Barry said through another giggle.

“Good. Coz Lisa and Iris moved you in this morning.” 

“ _What?_ ” Barry pulled back in surprise. “I thought it was only a few things?”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Len said. He hadn’t been angry when he discovered this, ending up at his apartment alone instead of with Barry beside him like they’d planned, more shell-shocked and terrified that as much as their sisters might think they were helping, maybe Barry wouldn’t want to stay. “I wanted to ask you. I was going to ask you before Singh showed up. If you’d said no, I would have made them move everything out again.”

Barry’s surprise faded into a sweet smile. “You thought I’d say no?” 

Len had trained himself a long time ago to go after what he wanted, but to always be ready for something to get in his way. “We’ve known each, what? A year and a half? But we’ve only _known_ each other a couple of months.”

“Doesn’t change that I know where I want to sleep every night…and where I want to wake up,” Barry said, smoothing his thumb along the top of Len’s hand again. “That was the one good thing about being cooped up in the Labs. You were always there.”

Len felt his emotions creep into his expression, something he’d worked so hard to master—always wear a mask, always leave them guessing, always hide who you really are to keep yourself safe. It amused him how Barry was the one with the real mask, yet he wore his emotions on his sleeve. He must be rubbing off on Len. 

A pointed clearing of the throat was Joe’s subtle way of reminding them that they were not actually alone, and Len and Barry snapped apart, though they didn’t release the grip of their hands. 

“Sorry, Joe!” Barry called, reaching back with his other hand to scratch his neck. “You know your house will always be—”

“Don’t sweat it, Barr,” Joe saved him from having to say anything more. He caught Len’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Just make sure family dinner night happens like clockwork, and you won’t get any guff from me. That goes for you too, you know! No excuses.”

“Yes, sir,” Len nodded with a quirk to his smile. He imagined those family dinner nights getting larger and larger with Henry in Central again, and Lisa likely inviting herself along. It could only grow from there. 

Barry pulled away finally and opened the door to scoot out onto the sidewalk. Much as Len missed the connection as soon as they parted, he also felt like some of the tension he’d been holding finally released. 

“Bye, Joe!” Barry said, then leaned into the car to beam at Len as he added, “After I finish up, I’ll…see you at home?” 

Len’s heart stuttered as if Barry had shocked him with his lightning. _Home._ “I’ll be there.”

XXXXX

Barry stretched his arms above his head. It was barely 5PM, but it was a Friday, and he’d planned to head out early so he had enough time to pick up Len’s present on the way home. It had been a long week, regular work and Flash business alike, but his exhaustion and readiness for the weekend was only the good kind of tired, the kind that left him satisfied after a job well done. 

It had been exactly a month since Scudder’s hearing. The meta was still locked away at the asylum in Gotham, waiting for his trial. Barry didn’t think much on it, except when he was needed as CSI Barry Allen for processing evidence or as The Flash to practice his testimony. The past four weeks had been about recovery, in every sense of the word, and about moving forward. 

Barry turned off his computer, filed away the last of the evidence he’d finished for the day, and grabbed his messenger bag to head out of the precinct.

“Allen!” Singh’s voice barked from the doorway, stopping Barry cold. As much as he knew deep down that the captain had warmed to him and actually cared about his wellbeing quite deeply, that never changed the stern way Singh did his job.

“Uh, yes, sir?” Barry cautiously approached his boss. 

Singh poised his hands on his hips as he blocked the way out. “Heard you talking to West about picking up your mail. Seems a regular thing now—you picking it up, like you don’t actually live there anymore, yet you haven’t given any new address to payroll, from what I hear.” 

“Oh…” Barry clutched his messenger bag a little tighter. He should have expected this would come up eventually when he was surrounded by detectives 24/7—or former detectives as the case may be. “Uhh…”

“Do I WANT to know where your new place of residence is?” he fixed Barry with a raised eyebrow.

Barry felt like this was a test. Was this a test? Singh always got on his case about plausible deniability, and…oh. He straightened his messenger bag over his shoulder. Definitely a test. “Probably better if you don't ask,” he said.

Singh nodded with a grim expression that slowly softened into something almost like a smile. “Get out of here, Allen. Have a good weekend.” 

“You too, Captain!” Barry answered brightly, feeling that maybe, this time, he might have managed to pass that test. 

Barry was in such high spirits as he headed down the stairs that he didn’t notice he was about to run into Lieutenant Choi. He stopped himself from literally running into him only moments before collision because Choi had come up short upon seeing that it was Barry in his path. 

“Oh, sorry, I—”

“Allen…hey,” Choi said, looking around warily, and finally settling his eyes on Singh as the other man headed into his office. Choi immediately relaxed before leaning in close and whispering to Barry, “Been meaning to catch you sometime, but…Singh insisted me and Anderson steer clear since we’re the only ones who ever saw…you know.” He tilted his head.

Barry blinked a moment, not understanding. 

When Choi tilted his head again, more pronounced, an image suddenly sprang to mind of Barry and Len locked in a heated kiss—though fiercely sad and angry at the time—against Len’s apartment door. The photo, which must have seemed a lot less like a fake after that broadcast to the city revealed that The Flash was the one locking lips with Captain Cold, and after Scudder had announced to the world that The Flash’s real identity was…

Shit. Doubles and Scudder’s powers and misunderstandings didn’t mean that Choi was stupid. Again Barry cursed his luck— _surrounded by detectives_. He tensed, unsure if he should back away, but there was no malice in the lieutenant’s expression. 

“I just wanted to…thank you,” Choi whispered, eyes darting around Barry at Singh’s door, “for all the good you do for this city.”

Barry unwound like a tightened coil. Maybe a time would come when his secret would be known to the whole world. For now he could only be grateful that other than Scudder—and Malcolm Merlin, but that was an entirely different beast—the only people who knew Barry’s identity were ones he trusted to keep it secret. 

_Plausible deniability_ , Barry thought, so he simply answered, “Thank you.”

Choi nodded as he pulled back, but kept his voice low. “Just, you know…keep that boyfriend out of trouble, huh?” he said with a grin. “A mayoral pardon only gets him off once.”

Barry laughed as Choi nodded and then walked away. He couldn’t help muttering to himself, “I remind him of that every day.”

XXXXX

It was a beautiful autumn evening when Barry left the precinct, just cool enough to be glad he had a jacket on as he took a different route home than usual so he could pass by the tailor’s. It wasn’t one of the shops in Len’s neighborhood, but it was someone Lisa had recommended as discreet, and not too out of the way. 

On a normal day, there were a few blocks where Barry would sneak into alleys and run to save on time, but much of the stretch he liked to walk at a normal pace. Enjoy his city. His home. 

He thanked the tailor profusely once he got a look at the finished product, and was beaming even wider carrying the large box it had been packaged in as he turned toward home. 

Arty was locking up the electronics store when Barry neared the shop. “Hey, Arty!” he called out. 

The other man turned with a congenial smile, dressed in a flannel shirt no matter how much Hartley rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s fashion sense, and a simple canvas jacket. “Barry, hey. What’s that for?” he indicated the large parcel. 

“Present for Len. You and Hartley are coming tonight, right?” 

“Why do you think I’m heading home early? Wouldn’t miss it. Might have some new toys for you two to look at soon,” he said with a mischievous smile, “but don’t go telling Hart I spilled the beans. See you in a bit, Barry!”

Barry continued on toward the corner store. He considered flashing around the back, if only because Mrs. Pak had a tendency to try to keep him, or load him up with food to take home. She’d taken it on as her personal responsibility to make sure that The Flash’s larger than life appetite was taken care of. He loved the older woman for that, he really did, but sometimes it felt like more than he deserved, even if he did help keep the neighborhood—and the city—safe. 

He decided to risk walking past the store anyway, since his hands were full at the moment. Maybe she’d refrain once she saw how encumbered he was with Len’s package. 

“Hey, skinny boy!” she called, peeking her head out of the shop as Barry moved past it. He had long since learned not to take her nicknames to heart; she just had that mother-who-must-feed-you syndrome. 

Barry turned around, smiling wide, expecting to be laden down with some additional bit of food that was leftover, or that she’d made special. Instead, she stood with her hands on her hips a little too reminiscent of Captain Singh. “Yes, Mrs. Pak?”

“I put you and Lenny to work. You want equal trade for food?” Barry had said a little too often that he would prefer to do more for her in return for everything she offered. “Fine. You help repair shop this weekend. New shelves. _No whirlwind._ Real labor,” she pointed her finger at him scoldingly. 

Barry had tried to explain to her that for him going fast wasn’t cutting corners or taking the easy way out; he was still doing the same amount of work just faster compared to what everyone could see. Still, he didn’t mind the few times she asked for help instead of just shoveling food in his mouth; Len liked it when she put them to work too, said he liked getting his hands dirty to build something rather than destroy. 

“Of course, Mrs. Pak. Whatever you need. We’ll stop by tomorrow morning.”

“Good, good.” She nodded then wagged her finger at him again. “You give Lenny kiss from me, yes? Sweet boy. Needs sunny boyfriend to keep from going sour.”

Barry chuckled. “Yes, Mrs. Pak.”

She gave him leave to head off, without adding to his burden. Barry’s cheeks were starting to hurt from having such a good day, such a fulfilling week. A month ago he might have expected this feeling to come with a hint of impending doom, because good times couldn’t last; something was bound to go wrong eventually. 

But Barry wouldn’t let himself think like that anymore. Bad times would come again. Bad days. He just had to enjoy the good while he had it, and get through the hard times when they turned up. 

“Barry!” Janey called as she came bounding down the sidewalk with her own large box in hand—the leftover donuts she always brought to the abuse shelter. 

Barry smiled back at her, since neither of them could really wave. They met on the sidewalk in front of the bakery. 

“Ready for Sunday?” she asked. 

“You bet. Len’s really excited, not that he’d ever admit it,” Barry grinned. “It’ll be his first real press event as Captain Cold since the pardon. And for a good cause. If there’s anyone left in this city who doesn’t believe he’s a good man, being the spokesperson for the shelter’s fundraiser will make a huge difference. Not that he’s doing it for any reason other than wanting to help.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Janey said. “I still can’t believe you convinced him to use his…well… _popularity_ to get more attention on the fundraiser. He’s usually so private, always gave his own donations quietly, under the radar, you know? I hear _The Flash_ might even drop by,” she added with a knowing slide of her eyes. Janey didn’t only deliver leftover baked goods for the men, women, and children at the shelter; she volunteered several days a week too. 

“Funny. I heard the same thing,” Barry winked. “See you Sunday,” he called cheerfully as she hurried past him toward the shelter. 

Sometimes it amazed Barry how quickly this neighborhood had started to feel like home, but then he thought about the people, simple genuinely good people just trying to live their lives, and it didn’t seem so strange. He even waved to Rashid—well, lifted his chin and gestured with the box as best he could—when Rashid caught his attention from inside the convenience store. 

Simple genuinely good people just trying to live their lives—like Barry. And Len. Like all of Team Flash and the Rogues. Even if they did have interesting night jobs. 

Barry braced himself as he moved up to the second floor of the apartment building, too familiar with the coming routine to be caught off guard, especially when he had a rather large box in his hands that he did not want to disrupt. As soon as he got close to Carla’s door, he expected the way it burst open and an excited ten-year-old stood poised to ambush him. 

“Freeze!” Michael called, holding his Captain Cold figure out as if he were holding the cold gun. 

Barry stiffened dramatically, surprised expression frozen in place, until Michael giggled and lowered the action figure. “Takes a while for that cold blast to thaw, Mikey,” Barry said rigidly as if still frozen. “I might need a minute.”

Michael giggled harder as he came out of his apartment with a curious tilt of his head. “Donuts?”

Barry relaxed. “Not this time, pal. This is for Len. Not food,” he assured the young boy’s pout. 

“Hey there, Sparky,” Shawna peeked out of the doorway, holding baby Mai, who was even more alert now as a one-month-old, starting to hold her head up and blink around at what she could see with ever-growing curiosity. 

“Carla still at work?” Barry asked.

“Heading home soon. I’ll tell her she missed you. But you can bet I’ll be at the Labs tonight.”

“Awesome. Yeah, I wish Carla could join us sometime too. She probably could use the break between work and parenthood.”

“Needs to expand her babysitters first. I hear your dad’s on the short list. Both of them,” she snickered.

That didn’t surprise Barry at all. “See you later.” He smiled down at Michael. “And see you Sunday, right? Keep it cool until then, buddy, okay?”

Michael nodded as he clutched his Captain Cold figure close. 

The apartment smelled like lilacs when Barry entered. Len had cleaned. He must be nervous about Sunday. He always tidied a little excessively when he was nervous, something new Barry had learned ever since moving in with him. 

“Len?!” Barry called as he kicked off his shoes at the door. The lights were on, but he didn’t immediately see his boyfriend. 

“Jumping in the shower!” Len’s muffled voice responded from upstairs. 

“’Kay!” Perfect. Now Barry had the chance to present Len with his gift with a bit more flare, something he knew Len would appreciate. But how to do it?

Barry set the box on the coffee table so he could put his jacket and messenger bag away, then looked around the room. Maybe—

His phone ringing interrupted his thought process. He pulled it from his pocket and smiled at the sender name. “Hey, Dad. No, I’m home actually. We have plans tonight. You?” He crooked his neck to hold the phone between his ear and shoulder, and snatched up the box again. Maybe the Bond villain closet. 

His dad had finally found a suitable apartment not too far from the West home, and was in the process of unpacking his things. Family dinner night was definitely becoming a larger affair, and everyone made an effort to attend each week. Barry loved it. 

He set the box on the floor beside the wall with Len’s Cold gear hidden inside, and touched the panel to open it, rewritten to accept Barry’s signature as well as Len’s. The wall slid open and Barry looked in on the new pair of goggles Cisco and Hartley had finished, boots, gloves, a few pairs of brand new cleaned and pressed black sweaters and thermal pants, and the cold gun. All that was missing was…

Barry snorted. 

“Something funny, Slugger?” Henry asked. 

“Oh, just something of Len’s he’ll have to explain.” Barry reached into the closet and pulled out the neatly displayed Coast City Diamond. Len couldn’t possibly have expected Barry wouldn’t find it. 

“How do you two compromise your…well, at times opposing lifestyles?” Henry asked with a grin in his voice.

Barry held the diamond in one hand, his phone in the other, and glanced down at the box at his feet. Not the closet. He had a better idea for bestowing Len with his present. “We make it work. Every stumble is just another chance to get to know each other better…right?” he repeated something his father used to tell him when he was younger, dealing with bullies for the first time and having trouble making friends. 

“Right,” Henry said.

“The important things, we’re always honest with each other about. The rest, well…most of the time the ‘opposing lifestyles’ part is actually kind of fun,” Barry chuckled. 

Henry let out a laugh of his own. “I’m happy for you, Barry. Really. See you two Sunday?”

“Can’t wait.” 

Everyone was coming to the event at the abuse shelter. Flash Day had meant so little to Barry, mostly because he hadn’t wanted to be lauded for something that had cost the lives of good men. He didn’t need to be lauded for anything, but if ever he wanted his friends and family to be there for something he was proud of, it wasn’t just for the flashy things—and god, that pun would have earned such a smirk from Len. 

Still, it wasn’t for things like saving the city, or even saving lives, it was the small things too, any little thing he could do to help give someone else the hope he’d lost for so long, and maybe make their lives a little better. Len’s desire to do the same, even if it had started small in just his own neighborhood, was part of why Barry loved him so much. 

He ended the call with his dad and grinned down at the box as he clutched the diamond tightly. He knew exactly how to give Len his present.

XXXXX

Len hadn’t meant to clean the apartment. It certainly didn’t need such thorough attention. But he’d gotten anxious thinking about the event on Sunday. One thing had led to another, until he had basically gotten the place spotless. Len was good at making speeches. He loved capturing the attention of the masses with a dramtic show. He’d just never done it for a good cause before. 

Refreshed from his shower, Len stepped out of the steaming bathroom with a towel tucked neatly around his waist. He’d already laid out something on the bed for the rest of the evening. Nothing too dressy; they weren’t exactly having a candlelit dinner tonight, but a simple get-together at STAR Labs in celebration of reaching one month since they’d finally gotten their one-up on Scudder—and since Len and Barry had moved in together. Friday nights were often busy for patrol, but they’d be on call if anything important came up. 

“Out of the shower yet, Len?” Barry called from downstairs. 

“Just getting dressed.” Len appraised his outfit for a moment before deeming it the right choice—his teal button-down and jeans. “Fill out your heroics for the day, Scarlet?” he asked. The game on Barry’s tablet had been updated and improved over the weeks, but still entailed a sort of living journal and a checklist that he went through every evening, more often before bed, but when they knew they were in for a long night, Barry tried to get to it early. 

“Yep,” Barry said, sounding closer now, maybe halfway up the stairs, while Len reached for his underwear. “Nothing beats a winning kiss from Captain Cold.”

Len smirked. “I can think of a few things…” he said beneath his breath, though loud enough that Barry likely heard him in their mostly quiet apartment. 

“Hey, Len. Catch.”

Len turned, underwear in hand, standing there in nothing but a towel, to see a sparkle of light heading toward him. His reflexes were bar none—other than Barry’s—and he caught the item easily, though he lost his underwear in the process. 

Shit. The Coast City Diamond. He knew Barry would find it eventually. 

“About this,” Len began, “I’ll return it some…day…” but his voice trailed off as he looked to the landing to see Barry poised in the archway with bare feet and bare legs, leading up to the hem of a navy blue… “Is that…?”

Barry toyed with the zipper, which was the only thing keeping him from exposing that he was definitely not wearing anything underneath. “A present?” he said, devilish grin on his utter lie of an innocent face. “I know how bummed you were about the damage to the old one, couldn’t get it repaired right, couldn’t find another one as good as the first. So I had one made for you.”

Len’s parka, down to the very last detail—aside from the Scarlet Speedster currently inside of it. Len had been wearing a simpler jacket the past few weeks, which was utilitarian enough, but not as imposing or memorable. 

Barry pushed from the doorway to approach Len—slowly. “I hope you like it. Cisco helped with schematics for a pattern from camera footage and photographs, but I used a tailor for the final touches. He definitely got the fur right.” He reached the hand not playing with the zipper to tease along the fur of the hood. 

Len had just stepped out of a hot shower, skin still flush, basically naked save the towel. The sight of Barry wearing nothing but the parka was enough to bring him half-mast all on its own, even without the impish expression and teasing hands. “Are you sure you’re not the devil, Scarlet?” he said, curling his fingers around the diamond like he’d like to curl them around other things, things barely hidden by the drop of that coat. “I’ve never known temptation this cruel.”

Barry giggled— _the little shit_. “Who says it’s cruel if you can have everything you see?” He started to unzip the parka further, getting about to his navel before he paused. He was within reaching distance now. “I thought we’d play a game.” 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing tonight,” Len said, “which is why we should be going?”

“We have time.” 

Len eyed the hand at the zipper, holding in place, forcing Len to conjure the image of what lay beneath, which he knew well now, but still, he loved it when Barry made him work for it. “What kind of game?”

“If you come first, you have to return the diamond,” Barry said.

Len resisted scowling as he pulled the diamond tighter to his chest. “And if you come first?”

“The game continues. You can hide the diamond again, anywhere you want, and the next time I find it, we play again. Deal?” He drew the zipper down another inch. 

Len was already tenting the towel. Envisioning Barry hard beneath the parka, naked inside of it before Len had even worn the damn thing, was the best way he could imagine breaking it in. He reached out with the diamond as Barry drew closer and tapped the sparkling rock against Barry’s chest. He didn’t want Barry to get too close yet, or he’d ruin the view. 

“What would Captain Singh think of this arrangement, I wonder.” 

Barry shrugged, zipper trailing down slower… _slower_ … “The diamond will get returned eventually.” 

Len shuddered as Barry dropped his hand, leaving only the smallest bit left to be unzipped, though Len could see the tease of dark hair. “I think I might be a bad influence on you,” he said, reaching forward to pick up where Barry had left off, unzipping the parka that smelled half brand new and half like Barry. 

“Mmm…yep,” Barry said, voice low and roughened, “and I’ve never been happier.” 

Len hesitated to unzip Barry fully, wanting the tease to last just a little longer. Those words, they were one of the phrases people just…said. An exaggeration no one ever meant. But that was just the thing—Len knew Barry meant every word. 

“You, Scarlet, are better than anything I’ve ever stolen,” he said, leaning forward, but not closing the final gap. 

Barry curled his fingers around Len’s wrist holding the diamond. “And you are better than anything I’d ever ask for.” He hovered closer, mere breath between them and barely any tangible space, but Barry didn’t close the gap either. He took the diamond, which Len gave up willingly—for now—and dropped it into the parka’s pocket. Then he reached between them and divested Len of his towel. “Gonna return the favor?” he asked with a defiant grin. 

Len shifted his hips closer, letting Barry feel how hard he was as he brushed the kid’s bare thigh. Barry practically buzzed. “Not yet. Gotta christen this new coat properly. Now come here,” he said, and gripped Barry by the edges of that perfect navy blue to tug him closer. 

XXXXX

“I thought you were the perpetually on time one,” Cisco raised an eyebrow at Len when he and Barry entered the lounge at STAR Labs a while—maybe a long while—later. 

“We got held up,” Len said. At least he’d won. He still had to decide where to hide the diamond next. 

“So who held who up, and who held the other down?” Hartley said from his place on the floor beneath Arty in a recliner. Both of them had controllers in their hands and at least one eye on the screen.

Cisco groaned at the comment, but Arty merely laughed. 

“Depends on the mood, the night, and if any props are involved,” Barry said succinctly. Len was far too proud of the scandalized expression on Cisco to be upset by the comment, not that it would have upset him anyway. 

“Lucky bastard,” Mick muttered. He had a beer in one hand and a controller in the other, which he juggled around whenever he needed to perform a certain task. As a talented mechanic, and considering how quickly Mick had picked up on the inner workings of his gun, Len never should have doubted that his friend would be adept at video games. 

Wally also had a controller, while Iris, Caitlin, and Lisa were all present, hanging about the room. Cisco had done an amazing job transforming the lounge to accommodate larger gatherings like this. More seating, a bigger screen acquisitioned from some forgotten project or another. And the food—impressive even for speedster standards. 

It didn’t surprise Len at all that Barry immediately disappeared from his side to inspect the provisions. “You started without us,” he complained, even as he filled his plate.

“Just a first round, relax,” Mick said, frowning when his character, who looked impressively like his actual self, was killed by a sniper. “Damn camera…”

“Plus, we have to rotate in, unlike the girls,” Wally added. 

Heists could only have four-person teams, Len had learned, and they had seven men, four women, once Shawna showed up. Barry had offered to see if any of Team Arrow wanted to join remotely, but Cisco had insisted that Felicity would be too unstoppable. 

Lisa was the one who’d suggested a gender split. “Could be fun, boys against girls,” she’d said innocently, which only ever meant trouble. 

The first heist finished with a fairly impressive score for the men’s team, or at least that’s what Barry whispered to Len. He was the only one completely green to the game, it turned out, though he’d created his character a week ago when Barry first mentioned it. 

“You go again, boys,” Iris said, plopping down onto the sofa between Lisa and Caitlin, “new roster. You can take the better of the two scores before we take our turn. Boo should be here by then.”

Len smirked. Most of the team had taken to calling Shawna ‘Boo’. He knew she adored it. 

Everyone traded out accept for Mick, who wanted a do-over after his untimely death, leaving room for Barry, Len, and Cisco to take up controllers. Len sat in front of Barry’s chair much as Hartley was in front of Arty, making it easier for Barry to lean down and explain things to him from time to time or help him figure out the controller. 

Len picked it all up quickly enough. He played the role of a fake prison guard on the inside, trying to help Mick’s character escape—which was all eerily reminiscent of real life, though Mick had initially complained, “Why do I gotta be the prisoner this time?” And while it was Len’s first time playing, they succeeded in the mission with a higher score than the first round. 

“Not bad, _LikesToIcicle_ ,” Cisco said. “You too, _FlameOn_. Nice job with the Marvel reference, by the way.”

Mick tipped his beer at Cisco in appreciation.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hartley said as if something had just dawned on him. “I kept reading Snart's name as _‘LickTheIcicle’_ , which has an entirely different connotation.”

The room erupted into laughter, while Len summoned his best put-upon expression. “Cute.”

“Do we need to control your alcohol intake, Piper?” Barry asked.

“Because that would make a difference _how_?” Arty chuckled. 

Hartley playfully smacked him in the leg.

“Girls turn!” Lisa rubbed her hands together. 

“What about Shawna?” asked Wally.

A nearly inaudible pop signaled Peek-A-Boo’s arrival and she settled onto the couch with the rest of the girls with barely a hello.

“Game on,” she grinned. 

Len was too busy enjoying the way Barry’s pout made his face even more adorable than usual to care that the women’s team obliterated the other two sets of scores. 

“This is why we don’t let them play,” Barry said. 

“I thought only Iris was the ringer,” Len eyed the group on the sofa. 

As it turned out, Caitlin had gotten the highest individual score. 

They played several more rounds of the heist, ate far more food than was necessary, other than for Barry who kept putting more away, before finally the men’s team called uncle and they decided to end the night on a movie. 

“Does this fulfill your needs for wanton destruction and thievery?” Barry asked, arms draped over Len’s shoulders, dangling down his chest from behind, as the others put the game away. 

Len leaned up to peck Barry on the lips. “Sure, kid,” he smiled cryptically.

Barry’s phone rang. He took a moment to look around the room, since so few options were left for who could be calling him, before he answered. It turned out to be Joe.

“Hey,” Barry said, swinging his leg over Len to stand and step away from the general chaos of the room. Len pushed to his feet to listen in. “He _what_?” Barry spun around with wide eyes. “Hang on, Joe, lemme put you on speaker.” He hushed the room before holding up his phone. 

Len’s instant fear was Scudder, but thankfully, it wasn’t about him this time. 

“Like I said, Dunkirk broke out. No uniforms have spotted him yet, but I got an anonymous tip that someone saw him heading toward Saints and Sinners. Figured I better inform you lot before sending any of the boys in blue. Carla working tonight?”

“No,” Barry and Shawna said in unison, then Barry finished, “she’s home, but he’s probably looking for her. We’ll handle it, Joe. Don’t call anyone in unless we tell you to.”

“It never ends,” Len muttered once Barry hung up and the general mood of the evening had been squashed. 

“Could always just kill ‘im,” Mick said, more than a little serious. 

Len twisted a smile at his friend. “While I would have agreed with you once, Mick, that would bring his father’s wrath down upon us…and go against the new code,” he nodded to the members of Team Flash—though he supposed his Rogues counted among that number now too. “What we need is to keep locking him up until he’s such a discredit, he’ll be seen as more of a liability to his father than any help. Then the next time he’s out, if he’s ever out again, dear old dad will take care of him for us.”

“So…have Barry hand deliver him to the police again?” Hartley suggested.

“Maybe not yet…” Len said as a plan started to form. “Hand deliver him to his father first, with a warning.” 

Barry shook his head. “I don’t think The Flash should be talking to mob bosses.” 

“Who said you’d be doing it?” 

“But how are you gonna catch the guy?” Cisco spoke up. 

“ _Without_ causing major damage,” Caitlin added.

Len contemplated that, taking in everyone in the room, and finally settling on his sister. When it hit him what to do next, he couldn’t help but grin. “I got just the thing.”

XXXXX

There was a time when the thrum of the Speed Force surrounding him, the city blurring and then becoming telescopic in its distinction as everything slowed in contrast to him going faster—faster, _faster_ —made Barry feel happier and more complete than he ever thought possible before the lightning.

Now things were so much better than that.

Even tucked into a dark corner at Saints and Sinners, where they’d entered from the back to keep an eye on Dunkirk until they were ready to make their move. It was just Barry, Len, Cisco, and Lisa, with Hartley on the comms back at the Labs, and the others all on standby, while also hoping that the trap would end quickly enough for them to get back to the movie they’d planned. Barry hoped the same thing, but he didn’t really mind the detour. 

He loved his life, and everyone in it. He loved that he could make a difference and really feel like he was doing some good. Even if sometimes he still doubted himself, had a setback, had a bad day, he knew now that he could always find his way back to the light whenever the darkness seemed stronger. 

“If this doesn’t work and I pass out, carry me home nicely,” Lisa said to Cisco, dressed in an impromptu dress of Caitlin’s she’d burrowed from the STAR Labs lockers that was admittedly a little too tight on her slightly curvier frame. She finished putting on her lipstick then immediately sipped on the drink she had with the antidote in it. Dunkirk wouldn’t get the same luxury. 

“You sure you don’t mind doing this?” Barry asked Lisa.

“You kidding? Honey, I’ve been itching to try out this knockout lipstick from Hartley since I got it.”

Barry turned to Cisco, whose brow hadn’t smoothed out once since they’d arrived; he’d insisted on being in the field for this, even if all he was doing was keeping an eye on Lisa. “And it doesn’t bother you either?”

Cisco looked startled, like he hadn’t meant to display displeasure at the honeypot aspect to the plan. “No way. She’s having far too much fun with this. Plus, it’s just a kiss, and for a good cause. I get all the real kisses,” he said pointedly, leaning in close to Barry, “like the other night…” only to remember that Len was standing right there too. “Never mind.”

Len rolled his eyes, while Lisa just laughed, and Barry shook his head at them all. The Rogues would be doing the handoff to Dunkirk’s father. Barry was only there if they needed him. 

Dunkirk had ordered a drink at the bar, deciding to bide his time apparently and see if Carla showed up later, or to wait it out to con info from the bartender or overhear something from a patron. Now was their chance. 

“Show time,” Lisa said. She almost leaned forward to kiss Cisco for luck before she remembered that her lips were poisoned and booped him on the nose instead. 

“Just remember, he knows you,” Len said.

“Please. Like that’s ever stopped me before.” 

Cisco moved to a closer booth, while Barry and Len stayed in the corner to keep hidden. Len’s eyes were like a hawk’s on Dunkirk, the cause of plenty of grief and trouble, even if Scudder had ended up more of a threat in the end. Dunkirk had still given Len one of his scars—and more than enough to Carla and Michael, despite most of them being invisible. For that alone, Barry would always despise the man. 

Len sat in the booth facing the bar, while Barry faced Len. He hadn’t asked if Len was okay with Lisa doing this, because he already knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t, even if he was the one who'd suggested it. This man was a reflection of Len’s father, and that carried with it a pain Barry could never fully relate to. He could only be there, like Len was there for him. 

Barry grew enamored with the way Len’s jaw twitched and his eyes expertly followed the scene as it progressed, even while he sat slouching to hold his cover, wearing a ballcap and his black-framed glasses that Barry now associated with home and a lazy afternoon.

“What?” Len asked when his eyes shifted to Barry after a few minutes of observing.

“Nothing. It’s just…nice. Working together like this.”

“We work together almost every night, Barry.”

“I know. But tonight feels like…just the right kind of déjà vu. Know what I mean?” He reached forward and stole a fry off the plate of food Len had ordered for appearances. 

As Len looked down at the positions they were in, at the burger and fries, even at which booth they’d chosen, the harsh expression on his face melted, just as Barry had hoped. Dunkirk was a terrible reminder for Len, but it was just one more thing they could face together. 

Len leaned forward to rest his fingers on Barry’s outstretched hand. “One of these days we’re gonna manage a proper date at this place.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Barry rubbed his foot along Len’s leg beneath the table, buzzing a little, just to let Len feel that he was there. Len straightened, not from the contact, but because his eyes darted to Lisa again, ready to jump into action as events started to move forward. “I think our brand of date night is just fine.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was the one where Dick is wearing the Batman suit and wearing stilts...?
> 
> Anyway, OMG, it's over. I could be convinced to write deleted scenes, like Oliver meeting Len more officially at the Labs that day, the event for the shelter, that last unresolved sex scene, and fitting Legends into this universe, but...we'll see. 
> 
> Did I miss anything? Leave any loose ends? Let me know!
> 
> Oh, the original version, crap. There's so much to share and so little time here, so message me on tumblr, crimsondomingo.tumblr.com, and/or keep an eye out, I will happily share with you details. :-)
> 
> And also...what did you think?

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me...


End file.
